Shadows in the Darkness
by Frodo Baggins of Bag End
Summary: *COMPLETED.* Newly arrived at Bag End, young Frodo falls ill. While nursing the ailing tweenager, Bilbo comforts him with stories from his travels - including a special tale of a particularly peculiar piece of jewelry. . . . NO slash; no language.
1. An Awakening

For permission to reproduce, please contact frodobaggins@frodo.com 

DISCLAIMER: The characters, places, and story of The Lord of the Rings are the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and consequently of the Tolkien Estate, with select rights by Tolkien Enterprises. This piece appears purely as fanfiction and is not intended to claim ownership of Tolkien's work in any way. Please e-mail me if you have concerns. 

SHADOWS IN THE DARKNESS 

Chapter One: An Awakening 

"Good-night." 

The words sounded as if they came from someone else's lips, Frodo mused as he closed the door, looking around his room in quiet wonder. Even after two weeks it still seemed so. . .well, different. But wonderfully different. The room was easily thrice the size of his bedroom in Brandy Hall, with its own fireplace and bookcases, and a wonderfully soft featherbed piled with pillows and down quilts. Best of all was the central point of the room: a large window-seat looking out of a round window, a variety of cushions tucked into the nook as if just waiting for someone to curl up there and read, or write, or simply watch the ducks in the pond below. This room had a view of not only the nearby duck-pond, but several trees where small families of birds seemed to nest, and squirrels skittered about the tree- trunks, chattering madly. . .and far, far in the distance, the horizon of the mountains Bilbo had once travelled. 

It was the most interesting view he'd ever seen. 

Yawning, Frodo began undressing, hanging up his clothes carefully after getting into a long night-shirt of plain green linen, part of the wardrobe Bilbo had had made for him during the summer, in excited preparation for his coming to live at Bag End. As if that weren't enough, he'd greeted Frodo's arrival some days before their birthday with several new books, specially ordered, delivered during a recent visit of Gandalf's it would seem. At first all had seemed like a dream - and even now it seemed hardly less difficult to believe: Bilbo spoiled him like his own son, taking him everywhere, yet leaving him enough peaceful time alone for any tweenager's satisfaction. Frodo had never been overly social, and was delighted to find that his hope of Bilbo continuing to offer him a bit of time to read or wander alone was proving well-founded indeed. They were a pair of bachelors, and lived as such, much to Frodo's taste, though at times Frodo had to admit to himself that he missed Angeline, the aunt who had had most hand in helping raise him after his parents' deaths, the one who had nursed him through chest colds and sprained ankles, measles and influenza, loneliness and scoldings, tormenting memories of losing his mother and father at the same time. They had never been as a mother and son might be, but it was the closest thing he had known for the past nine years. . .and, despite his excitement and the delight of his much more suitable life in Bag End, he did worry that he would miss her more as time passed. But this was a fleeting and transient worry, for the most part, and after a day of tramping about Hobbiton, followed by an evening of comfortable conversation and chess-games by the fire, Frodo thought of nothing but his pillow as he lay down. He was very tired, and his head ached; sleep sounded welcome indeed tonight. 

He awoke abruptly, feeling as if he'd been hit in the stomach. Suddenly he felt horribly nauseated, and promptly attempted to sit up. . .but the room spun, and he crumpled back onto the bed as the waves of nausea gave over to retching. 

Suddenly he heard footsteps. . .the door. . .and felt warm hands upon his brow, holding his head. "There you go, lad. . .just let it all come up, now, if you need. . .ssssshh. . . ." Bilbo. Merciful Shire, Bilbo was there, supporting his head and offering a basin, quickly folding the soiled covers away, bringing water to his lips to help him rinse his mouth, finally easing him back onto the pillows gently before laying a cool compress over his forehead. 

"There now, my boy. . .easy. . . ." He laid a gentle hand against Frodo's face, frowning anxiously. "Seems you've a touch of stomach flu, that's all. . .easy now. . .just try and relax." 

Frodo whimpered, closing his eyes as he felt sick once more. He felt Bilbo patting his shoulder, then rising. . .footsteps. . .the slosh of water. . .and then Bilbo's hands, carefully unfastening his night-shirt and sliding behind him, helping him sit up before sliding the gown over his head, leaving him naked. It was only then that Frodo realised how very ill he felt: a cold sweat seemed to cover him, and he felt faint and sick, hot and cold at the same time. A cloth touched his chest, and he began at once to feel better: the dampness was just cool enough to feel pleasant, and the motion was soothing. . . . 

"We'll just get you cleaned up and into something good and dry . . . and some fresh covers. . .there now." 

Bilbo's voice was so comforting. . .so reassuring. . . . Sighing softly, Frodo relaxed a bit, only wincing as Bilbo's hands moved over his aching belly. Almost before he knew it, Bilbo had him bathed, dried, and dressed in a fresh nightshirt, buttoning it up carefully before wrapping a quilt around him, lifting him gently and easing him into the window-seat to rest against the pile of cushions there. The elder hobbit's attention turned to changing the bedding, Frodo turned to look up at the stars, sparkling through his new window like a thousand tiny diamonds. It reminded him of Primula's favourite necklace, the one she only wore on special occasions. . .his birthday one of them. *"They're like stars on a little chain!" * 

*Primula laughed, bending to swing her young son up into her arms, holding him high in the air before pulling him back into a warm embrace, kissing his forehead. "Yes, they are, aren't they? But not half as lovely as my favourite treasure in the world. . . . Come on, now. . .time for supper, and we can't keep your guests waiting!" * 

Closing his eyes, Frodo shivered as he tried to restrain the tears burning behind his eyelashes. Suddenly he felt a little warmer. . .some relief from the chills that seemed to come with what he could tell was a fever. Bilbo's voice soothed him, comforting at his ear as the elder hobbit eased him into welcoming arms, lifting him from the window-seat once more and carrying him back to bed. "There now, Frodo-lad. . .all better. Fresh sheets, plenty of blankets, a basin right by your pillow in case you feel sick again. . .does that sound a bit better?" 

He opened his eyes, nodding a little as Bilbo laid him down, beginning to tuck him in warmly, easing a hot-water bottle beneath the covers and onto his aching stomach. By the Shire, that felt better. . .the heat seemed to ease the pain, soothing him into some measure of comfort, easing any lingering chills. 

"I think we'd best keep you in bed, send for the doctor. . .all right?" Frodo bit his lip. The last doctor he'd seen was the one at Brandy Hall, who treated everything by leeches or straight-out bloodletting, and both prospects made him feel more ill just at the thought. "I'll be all right - no need for a doctor, honestly, Bilbo - I just need to rest is all." Bilbo shook his head firmly, tucking the counterpane gently over Frodo's chest. "I'm not taking any chances, Frodo. Not with you." 

Frodo sighed, but offered no further protest: he couldn't very well argue with Bilbo given the number of times he'd been ill in the previous years, coupled with the Brandybucks' skepticism regarding Bilbo's ability to bring up a tweenager, particularly such an impossible young hobbit-lad as Frodo was considered. Yielding, he curled up on his side, snuggling the hot- water bottle close. He closed his eyes, Bilbo stroking his curly hair with a gentle touch. 

"There now, my boy. Sssshh. Try and sleep if you can. . .I'll be right here." 

Nodding, Frodo tried to rest, and sleep returned quickly through a haze of chill and sweat. 

~To Be Continued~ 


	2. Ginger Care

Author's Notes to My Readers: Thank you all so much for the wonderful reviews! Please, keep your feedback coming. . .it is VERY encouraging and spurs me to write more quickly! I'm glad so many are enjoying it: detail is something I'm fairly fussy about, so I always love it when people enjoy the little details. Please rest assured I don't plan on long delays between updates: I'm hoping to have at least Chapter Three up this afternoon or tonight, and Chapter Four shortly thereafter. There's rather a pleasant surprise ahead I'm looking forward to getting out for your reading pleasure. :) 

For permission to reproduce, please contact frodobaggins@frodo.com 

DISCLAIMER: The characters, places, and story of The Lord of the Rings are the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and consequently of the Tolkien Estate, with select rights by Tolkien Enterprises. This piece appears purely as fanfiction and is not intended to claim ownership of Tolkien's work in any way. Please e-mail me if you have concerns. 

SHADOWS IN THE DARKNESS 

Chapter Two: Ginger Care 

"Yes. . .he woke up during the night, sick as a pup, poor lad. Been awake once since, though I doubt he even remembers it; he was barely conscious." 

"That's to be expected. There's been a great deal of this going around with the youngsters. Most of the older folk have had this sort of thing already, long time ago, but children tend to pick it right up. Even at this age. Not a very chubby little lad already, is he?" 

"No. . .no, that's something I'm hoping to improve. He eats well enough most of the time, but I do worry." 

Gradually Frodo became aware of two voices close by - Bilbo, of course - and another, a bit younger, perhaps the age his father would have been. A warm voice, not unkindly in it tone. He lay still, not yet opening his eyes: it seemed too tiring a prospect, and he still felt so sick. . . . 

"Keep him on nothing more than light fluids - sips of cool water, apple juice, chamomile tea, ginger tea, any of the mint family, perhaps a bit of plain toast-water - until he's had at least a full day without vomiting. Try and get him to eat a little after that - nothing too rich, just simple foods like broth, jelly, porridge, perhaps some stewed fruit or applesauce. . .start him back with those in very small servings, liquids first, and advance his diet slowly as he starts getting better. Small, frequent feedings. Milk toast, mashed potatoes, that sort of thing. I wouldn't give him too much in the way of solids until the fever's been down at least two days, possibly even three; he needs lots of liquids. Give him plenty to drink as soon as he feels up to it and that'll help him right along." 

"Of course, Dr. Boffin." 

The swish of fabric. . .a scent of worn leather and old glass. . .and a light touch on his curls. He stirred a little, nestling against Bilbo's hand a bit as he felt other hands upon him, feeling his forehead and cheek, pressing gently at his neck. Weakly he forced his eyes open, finding Bilbo and another hobbit standing over him. This must be Dr. Boffin. . .a leather bag sat beside him on the bed, with several small glass bottles and odd instruments protruding from the top. His chestnut curls were greying a bit, but the brown eyes beneath heavy eyebrows were still merry, and Frodo could hardly help smiling as he watched. At the sight of his young patient's open eyes, the doctor smiled. 

"There now, young master Baggins. . .just you stay still and rest, and we'll take good care of you! I just need to get a bit more information. . . . Open your mouth for me, please - put out your tongue and say 'Ahhh' so I can have a look at your throat." 

Frodo complied, opening wide and sticking out his tongue, ahhhh-ing until the doctor nods, removing the stick used to keep the tongue down, continuing with a series of light taps against Frodo's chest, then pressing lightly on his stomach. Involuntarily Frodo moaned: it hurt, though fortunately the doctor quickly withdrew. 

"I'm sorry there, lad. . .no more of that. How are you feeling? Your uncle tells me you woke up a bit sick to your stomach." 

Frodo nodded weakly. "Mmm-hmm. . .I threw up. . . ." 

"How are you feeling otherwise? Any pain besides your stomach?" 

"I ache all over. . .my head and back the most. And I still feel sick at my stomach." 

"Any chills?" 

"Yes. . .I've felt a bit. . .hot and cold all at once, for what sense that makes. And then sometimes I can't get warm enough; others it's like boiling. . . ." 

"Dizzy at all?" 

He nodded. "Mmm-hmm. It's better when I'm lying down." 

Nodding, Dr. Boffin tucked him back in gently, smoothing the quilts over him and looking up at Bilbo, who stood at the head of the bed, still stroking Frodo's hair reassuringly despite his worried expression. "Well, Mr. Baggins, I'd say you have a very sick child on your hands - tweenager, if you prefer - " he added, with a smile to Frodo. "But it's just a touch of something - he'll be just fine so long as he's watched closely and gets a bit of liquid down. That's very important, though, which is why I'm saying it in front of you both: even if it's just a sip or a teaspoonful here and there, he *must* have liquids, not only for his comfort but so his body can recover. Once he stops feeling sick, he should drink as much as he can, even if he doesn't feel thirsty. . .though I'm sure he will." He waited for the ensuing nod from both Bagginses. "But keep him resting quietly in bed until the fever's been down for at least three days. After that, he can rest in the window-seat or on a sofa, but he needs to take it easy in resuming activity. Can't be too careful. And I want to see him again when he's better to discuss a restorative diet: He needs to put some weight on, get plenty of good, nourishing food into that tummy. All right?" 

"Thank you, sir - of course, of course," Bilbo nodded promptly. "We can manage all that. . .can't we, my lad?" He smiled at his ward, reaching for the boy's hand and rubbing it gently between his own. Frodo smiled back, feeling somehow relieved despite the continued sense of nausea: he felt safe, somehow. Bilbo would take care of him. It would be all right, surely. 

Dr. Boffin prodded about in his bag for a few minutes, at last producing two tall bottles of some sort of syrup. "Here we are! This one is a nice ginger syrup; the other is a blend of peppermint and chamomile. Give Frodo a teaspoonful of the ginger after each bout of vomiting, a tablespoonful of the chamomile-mint syrup every four hours until he's feeling completely better. That will help bring down his temperature a bit and settle his stomach. Candied ginger's all right if he wants it; that won't hurt him even now." He laid a hand on Frodo's forehead, frowning a bit. "You may still have to sponge him down to keep that under control, though, especially to keep him comfortable. These fevers can be quite up and down, and it may be a miserable enough few days as it is." 

Again Bilbo nods, taking the bottles carefully and reading their labels before setting them on the bedside table. "Certainly. We had to do that before, when he was younger and had a few bad bouts there. Nothing we can't manage." 

Frodo blinked in slight surprise as the doctor began closing his bag, rising as he continued talking to Bilbo in low tones, mostly about the weather and other practicalities. To have been spared the painful procedures not infrequently employed by other doctors was far better than he'd hoped, and he felt sufficiently reassured to close his eyes once more, growing drowsy as he listened to the conversation. The last thing he heard in drifting off was Bilbo's voice. 

". . .The boy means everything to me. Of course I'll do everything I can for him. Thank you again for coming. . . ." 

And Frodo drifted into sleep. 

~To Be Continued~ 


	3. Nightmares

Author's Notes: Chapter Four will follow shortly (within hours at most). The surprise I alluded to is in there. . .don't worry, I'm hurrying as quickly as I can! :) This chapter, by the way, is rather episodic. . .but they won't all be quite this broken up. Thank you all for your patience. . .and for reviews!  
  
For those unfamiliar with the book, Primula was Frodo's mother.  
  
For permission to reproduce, please contact frodobaggins@frodo.com  
  
DISCLAIMER: The characters, places, and story of The Lord of the Rings are the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and consequently of the Tolkien Estate, with select rights by Tolkien Enterprises. This piece appears purely as fanfiction and is not intended to claim ownership of Tolkien's work in any way. Please e-mail me if you have concerns.  
  
SHADOWS IN THE DARKNESS  
  
Chapter Three: Nightmares  
  
When Frodo awoke again, it was dark. . .no. . .wait. . .only dim: if he opened his eyes fully he could see the glimmer of sunlight glinting along the floor in tiny patches. The curtains had been drawn, keeping his room cool and quiet, dark save for the pleasant glow of a lamp near his bedside. He vaguely remembered snatches of half-waking from earlier. . .but suddenly he felt acutely sick again, and curled onto his side, clutching at the basin left by his pillow.  
  
"Sssshhh. . .there now, lad. Easy now. Easy now. It's all right."  
  
Bilbo's comforting hand pressed against his forehead, the other rubbing his back lightly. Frodo shut his eyes tightly, feeling a cold sweat break out over his body, drenching his brow. When the vomiting ended, he went limp in Bilbo's arms, allowing the older hobbit to help him rinse away the taste, wiping his mouth and taking away the basin, replacing it with a clean one. Gently he ran a cold cloth over Frodo's face, at last folding a compress over the boy's forehead before beginning to remove the night- shirt.  
  
"There now, my boy. Sssshhh. Just rest. . .we'll get you comfortable in just a few minutes."  
  
His breath still coming in uneven gulps, Frodo nodded weakly, keeping his eyes closed. He felt the touch of a cool cloth against his chest, gentle hands helping him turn onto his side when needed, rubbing aching limbs soothingly as they worked. The sponge-bath did make him feel a little better: he no longer felt in imminent danger of another bout of being sick, and was able to enjoy the comfort of being cared for, dressed in a fresh gown, a fresh pillow slipped beneath his head. Something touched his lips, something smelling of warm spices. . . .  
  
"Come on, Frodo. . .just a spoonful. . .just ginger syrup, that's all. . . ."  
  
He remembered, and opened his mouth obediently, swallowing carefully. The taste was sweet, but crisp enough from the ginger that he managed to keep it down.  
  
"Good! There's a good lad."  
  
Bilbo pressed a damp sponge to his lips, moistening the dry skin. It felt good. . .he was too tired to try and drink something. . .too tired to ask for anything else. . . . He was grateful for Bilbo's soothing voice, for the constant attention that reassured him he was not alone, that someone was there to take care of him. But he was too tired to manage even a whispered thank-you; already he felt sleep claiming him again. . . .  
  
**************************************************************************** *********  
  
"Bilbo!"  
  
"I'm right here, lad - it's all right - "  
  
Frodo clung to his uncle, weeping with relief. He scarcely remembered crying out, only moments after doing so: he felt dizzy and sick, and suddenly frightened of some nameless terror. Now he cried both with relief and with embarrassment at calling out like a small child. Bilbo held him close, rocking him gently, just enough to lull him back to sleep.  
  
  
  
The boat.  
  
He remembered suddenly: the boat floating, turned upside-down on the Brandywine, a green ribbon caught on its edge, floating limply in the water like a strand of seaweed.  
  
  
  
Immediately he was sick again, Bilbo supporting him gently and cleaning him up afterward, admininstering another dose of ginger syrup and sponging him down, tucking him in with hot-water bottles for comfort from the chills that the fever tended to bring. And suddenly he wanted Primula: he remembered her so well even now, clinging to the memory of her laughter, her voice, her way of smiling, the way she said his name. . . .  
  
Bilbo took him back up, holding him gently.  
  
"It's all right, Frodo. Cry if you feel like it. It's all right."  
  
Already beginning to sob, Frodo buried his face in Bilbo's shoulder, crying and crying until at last he fell back into slumber.  
  
**************************************************************************** *********  
  
"Here now. . .just a sip. . .there's a good lad."  
  
He awoke to feel something tipped against his parched lips. Obediently he tasted, sipping slowly: chamomile tea, warm in a china teacup. Opening his eyes, he found Bilbo bending over him, raising his head just enough to allow him to sip.  
  
"There. . . . Very good. It's time for another dose of your medicine: remember, Dr. Boffin says this will help bring the fever down. . .and it'll help you rest." Bilbo set the teacup aside, pouring some syrup into a spoon and bringing it carefully to the tweenager's lips.  
  
Carefully Frodo opened his mouth, taking the thick mixture slowly, swallowing it all down. The taste was not unpleasant - a bit like chamomile tea with honey and strong overtones of peppermint. He looked toward the curtains: it seemed dark. "What time is it?"  
  
Bilbo lowered his head back onto the pillow, setting aside the medicine- spoon and taking up the cup once more. "Late evening. . .around nine o'clock. How are you feeling?"  
  
"Tired. . .awfully weak, like. . .like everything's been drained out of me. Still like I might have to throw up again."  
  
"That's all right." Sitting beside him, Bilbo stroked his hair gently, studying him with an anxious gaze. "You're still very sick. Just try and rest, my boy."  
  
Weakly Frodo nodded. . .he was too exhausted for anything more, and allowed Bilbo to administer a few more tiny sips of chamomile tea, growing drowsy as medicine and tea began to work.  
  
"Now, Frodo. . .do you remember about the three trolls?"  
  
Frodo smiled, nodding. "How could I forget?"  
  
"How indeed!" Chuckling, Bilbo tucked his young heir back in, wringing out a fresh compress for the tweenager's brow. "Well, as you'll remember. . . ."  
  
Frodo listened, smiling a little as Bilbo launched into the now-familiar tale. . .and curled up on his side, concentrating on the words in an effort to forget the lingering nausea and unease.  
  
~To Be Continued~ 


	4. An Unexpected Visitor

For permission to reproduce, please contact frodobaggins@frodo.com  
  
DISCLAIMER: The characters, places, and story of The Lord of the Rings are the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and consequently of the Tolkien Estate, with select rights by Tolkien Enterprises. This piece appears purely as fanfiction and is not intended to claim ownership of Tolkien's work in any way. Please e-mail me if you have concerns.  
  
SHADOWS IN THE DARKNESS  
  
Chapter Four: An Unexpected Visitor  
  
"No. . .that' s not it. . . ."  
  
Bilbo smiled nonetheless, easing his charge up once more to rearrange the pillows a bit. Frodo had been awake intermittently throughout the night, still vomiting and running a fever with chills. As a result, he was fretful and cross, a bit fussy as he tried to find a comfortable position in bed with Bilbo's help. Nothing seemed to feel right; he hadn't really eaten anything for over a day and a half, and the thought of trying nearly made him gag.  
  
"There now. . .is that better?" Bilbo was attempting to settle him for the morning, having already given the requisite medicines and changed the tweenager's night-shirt again. "Another blanket?"  
  
Frodo nodded, shuddering as his small frame trembled with chill, mustering a weak, exhausted smile as Bilbo tucked an extra quilt over him.  
  
The sound of the door-bell broke the stillness - a loud, insistent pull, like someone strong or particularly intent upon getting an audience. Frodo winced, sighing as he attempted to curl back up, and Bilbo glanced up, an exasperated expression on his features.  
  
"Just try and rest, Frodo-lad. I'll be right back, and I won't be far at all."  
  
Frodo nodded weakly, closing his eyes as he tried to return to sleep. He heard Bilbo's voice, then another. . .deeper, though still rather quiet. . . . After some minutes, they gradually drew closer, enough that he could make out Bilbo's words, but not those of the other:  
  
". . .been quite ill, poor lad. But I'm sure he'll. . ."  
  
The rest was lost as Frodo shifted in bed, adjusting the covers and opening his eyes once more. Slowly the door of his room opened, admitting Bilbo once more. His face was alight, and he looked as excited as a young hobbit at a mushroom picnic.  
  
"Frodo my lad, look who's here. . .someone would like to see you. . . ."  
  
Frodo turned toward the door. . .and let out a small gasp, his countenance brightening. Stooping a bit to enter was a familiar figure: tall, draped in blue robes, with great black boots and a staff nearly the height of two young hobbits together. Straightening a bit, he smiled through his long grey beard, and at once Frodo smiled in return.  
  
"Gandalf. . . ."  
  
"Good morning, Frodo. Bilbo tells me you aren't well?"  
  
Smiling despite the situation, Frodo shook his head. "I'm sick at my stomach. . . ."  
  
The wizard laid a large hand on Frodo's forehead. . .comforting and cool, soothing the lad. "So I hear! Well, I wonder whether you might still be interested in something I happen to have with me. . . ." Keeping one hand on Frodo's brow, smoothing back the damp curls gently, he smiled, setting down his staff and reaching into one of the pockets mysteriously nestled in the folds of his cloak, bringing out a small bag. Laying it on the bed beside Frodo, he opened it, revealing emptiness. . .then pulls the edges back together for a moment, muttering something unintelligible and tapping his fingers against it before opening it again to reveal a small assortment of candied ginger, cleverly cut into bite-sized bits. Frodo beamed, laughing with delight. He'd long associated the wizard with pleasantries: indeed, he could not remember a time when Gandalf had visited and not produced some small surprise for him, whether sweets or special toys from faraway lands, like Dale and Beorn's country, or, as Frodo grew older, books or maps of interesting sorts.  
  
"Thank you!"  
  
Bilbo smiled, nodding his approval. "How kind, Gandalf. . .go ahead, Frodo; if you want to try a bit it's all right. Dr. Boffin said that would be fine. . .might help settle your stomach."  
  
Gandalf took out a tiny piece, offering it to the sick child. Taking it slowly, Frodo simply held it in his mouth, nodding approvingly as the sense of nausea seemed to gradually ease off a little.  
  
"You should get some rest, Bilbo," Gandalf urged softly after a moment. "I'll stay with Frodo. . .would you mind, lad?" He turned back to the younger Baggins, one large hand still stroking the boy's curls.  
  
For a moment Bilbo stood in hesitation, coming to his ward's bedside and taking one of the small hands in his. "Frodo. . .what would you like? I don't mind staying right here with you. But I also won't be more than a room away. . . ."  
  
"I don't mind Gandalf staying with me." Indeed, Frodo didn't - he suspected he might have the luxury of hearing some new stories and perhaps a few old favourites, and the nausea was beginning to ease off a bit. Almost as if to reassure both hobbits, Gandalf smoothed the boy's covers, wringing out a fresh cloth and laying it across the fevered brow.  
  
"We'll be fine, Bilbo; if he wishes, I'll call you in at once."  
  
Twisting the edge of the top cover nervously in his hands, Bilbo finally nodded, bending forward and kissing Frodo's brow. "All right, then! Be good, Frodo. . .and tell Gandalf the instant you're ready for me to return. . . ." He offered a few hurried instructions about the medicines and Frodo's care, then disappeared into the hall.  
  
Settling back in his chair as best he can, Gandalf smiled warmly, keeping a hand close to freshen the lad's compress periodically and stroke the bark- brown curls reassuringly. "Well, then, Frodo. . .is there anything I can do for you, lad? A story, perhaps?"  
  
Frodo laughed, nodding. "You seem to read minds sometimes, Gandalf - I'd love to hear one. Please?"  
  
A broad grin settled in through the beard. "Then a story it is! Now, let's see. . . ."  
  
~To Be Continued~ 


	5. Of Dragons, Princes, and Courage

Author's Notes: These chapters will include a mix of stories told by Gandalf and Bilbo to amuse young Frodo coupled with the story at hand (Frodo's present illness). Some of the stories you may recognise from The Hobbit and The Tolkien Reader; in some you may recognise elements of folklore common across cultures, including Anglo-Saxon roots. I hope you'll enjoy the blend. Please note also that NO slash is intended or implied. Nothing personal, but I don't read the relationships that way, and as such, please don't read anything of that nature into what's written here. 

For permission to reproduce, please contact frodobaggins@frodo.com 

DISCLAIMER: The characters, places, and story of The Lord of the Rings are the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and consequently of the Tolkien Estate, with select rights by Tolkien Enterprises. This piece appears purely as fanfiction and is not intended to claim ownership of Tolkien's work in any way. Please e-mail me if you have concerns. 

SHADOWS IN THE DARKNESS 

Chapter Five: Of Dragons, Princes, and Courage 

"Tell one I've not heard before, Gandalf, please?" begged Frodo, taking another bit of candied ginger. "A story of faraway lands, with adventures and heroes and horrible creatures to slay. . . ." 

Gandalf chuckled heartily, wringing out a fresh compress and changing the one resting on the youngster's fevered brow. "Only if you promise to rest quietly while you listen!" 

"I promise! Please?" 

The old wizard smiled, patting the tweenager's head. "All right, then. Once upon a time there lived a king who had three sons. They were all fine young men, and fond of hunting, and scarcely a day passed without one or other of them going out to look for game. One morning the eldest of the three princes mounted his horse and set out for a neighbouring forest, where wild animals of all sorts were to be found. He had not long left the castle, when a hare sprang out of a thicket and dashed across the road in front. The young man gave chase at once, and pursued it over hill and dale, till at last the hare took refuge in a mill which was standing by the side of a river. The prince followed and entered the mill, but stopped in terror by the door, for, instead of a hare, before him stood a dragon, breathing fire and flame. At this fearful sight the prince turned to fly, but a fiery tongue coiled round his waist, and drew him into the dragon's mouth, and he was seen no more. 

"A week passed away, and when the prince never came back everyone in the town began to grow uneasy. At last his next brother told the king that he likewise would go out to hunt, and that perhaps he would find some clue as to his brother's disappearance. But hardly had the castle gates closed on the prince than the hare sprang out of the bushes as before, and led the huntsman up hill and down dale, till they reached the mill. Into this the hare flew with the prince at his heels, when, lo! instead of the hare, there stood a dragon breathing fire and flame; and out shot a fiery tongue which coiled round the prince's waist, and lifted him straight into the dragon's mouth, and he was seen no more. 

"Days went by, and the king waited and waited for the sons who never came, and could not sleep at night for wondering where they were and what had become of them. His youngest son wished to go in search of his brothers, but for long the king refused to listen to him, lest he should lose him also. But the prince begged so hard for leave to make the search, and promised so often that he would be very cautious and careful, that at length the king gave him permission, and ordered the best horse in the stables to be saddled for him. 

"Full of hope, the young prince started on his way, but no sooner was he outside the city walls than a hare sprang out of the bushes and ran before him, till they reached the mill. As before, the animal dashed in through the open door, but this time he was not followed by the prince. Wiser than his brothers, the young man turned away, saying to himself: 'There are as good hares in the forest as any that have come out of it, and when I have caught them, I can come back and look for you.' 

"For many hours he rode up and down the mountain, but saw nothing, and at last, tired of waiting, he went back to the mill. Here he found an old woman sitting, whom he greeted pleasantly. 'Good morning to you, little mother,' he said; and the old woman answered: 'Good morning, my son.' 'Tell me, little mother,' went on the prince, 'where shall I find my hare?' 'My son,' replied the old woman, 'that was no hare, but a dragon who has led many men hither, and then has eaten them all.' 

"At these words the prince's heart grew heavy, and he cried, 'Then my brothers must have come here, and have been eaten by the dragon!' 

"'You have guessed right,' answered the old woman; 'and I can give you no better counsel than to go home at once, before the same fate overtakes you.' 

"'Will you not come with me out of this dreadful place?' said the young man. But the old woman shook her head. 'He took me prisoner, too,' answered she, 'and I cannot shake off his chains.' 

"'Then listen to me,' cried the prince. 'When the dragon comes back, ask him where he always goes when he leaves here, and what makes him so strong; and when you have coaxed the secret from him, tell me the next time I come.' 

"So the prince went home, and the old woman remained in the mill, and as soon as the dragon returned she said to him: 'Where have you been all this time--you must have travelled far?' 

"'Yes, little mother, I have indeed travelled far.' answered he. Then the old woman began to flatter him, and to praise his cleverness; and when she thought she had got him into a good temper, she said: 'I have wondered so often where you get your strength from; I do wish you would tell me. I would stoop and kiss the place out of pure love!' The dragon laughed at this, and answered: 'In the hearthstone yonder lies the secret of my strength.' 

"Then the old woman jumped up and kissed the hearth; whereat the dragon laughed the more, and said: 'You foolish creature! I was only jesting. It is not in the hearthstone, but in that tall tree that lies the secret of my strength.' Then the old woman jumped up again and put her arms round the tree, and kissed it heartily. Loudly laughed the dragon when he saw what she was doing. 

"'Old fool,' he cried, as soon as he could speak, 'did you really believe that my strength came from that tree?' 

"'Where is it then?' asked the old woman, rather crossly, for she did not like being made fun of. 

"'My strength,' replied the dragon, 'lies far away; so far that you could never reach it. Far, far from here is a kingdom, and by its capital city is a lake, and in the lake is a dragon, and inside the dragon is a wild boar, and inside the wild boar is a pigeon, and inside the pigeon a sparrow, and inside the sparrow is my strength.' And when the old woman heard this, she thought it was no use flattering him any longer, for never, never, could she take his strength from him. 

"The following morning, when the dragon had left the mill, the prince came back, and the old woman told him all that the creature had said. He listened in silence, and then returned to the castle, where he put on a suit of shepherd's clothes, and taking a staff in his hand, he went forth to seek a place as tender of sheep. 

"For some time he wandered from village to village and from town to town, till he came at length to a large city in a distant kingdom, surrounded on three sides by a great lake, which happened to be the very lake in which the dragon lived. As was his custom, he stopped everybody whom he met in the streets that looked likely to want a shepherd and begged them to engage him, but they all seemed to have shepherds of their own, or else not to need any. The prince was beginning to lose heart, when a man who had overheard his question turned round and said that he had better go and ask the king, as he was in search of someone to see after his flocks. 

"'Will you take care of my sheep?' said the king, when the young man knelt before him. 

"'Most willingly, your Majesty,' answered the young man, and he listened obediently while the king told him what he was to do. 

"Outside the city walls,' went on the king, 'you will find a large lake, and by its banks lie the richest meadows in my kingdom. When you are leading out your flocks to pasture, they will all run straight to these meadows, and none that have gone there have ever been known to come back. Take heed, therefore, my son, not to suffer your sheep to go where they will, but drive them to any spot that you think best.' 

Frodo listened contentedly, but an uneasiness had returned to his throat, and he felt increasingly weak and dizzy despite lying almost flat in his bed, head barely raised on a single pillow. Suddenly the feeling worsened, and he moaned. "Gandalf - " 

The wizard promptly paused, moving closer to the bedside and rubbing the tiny hobbit's back, with his other hand wringing out a fresh cloth. "Of course, lad; I am here. Right here." 

Frodo attempted to nod, but felt so sick that he checked the motion at once. . .just in time, as another episode of vomiting ensued. By now, of course, his stomach was so empty that it was mostly retching, bringing up a little of the herbal tea and a fair amount of bitter yellow fluid, the taste like rusted metal in his mouth. 

Gandalf did not seem taken aback - gently he helped the tweenager sit up, supporting Frodo's head over the basin, continuing to rub the small back which was rapidly soaking with sweat. When the attack passed, leaving a shaken little hobbit leaning against him, he helped Frodo rinse away the taste, promptly administering a teaspoonful of the soothing ginger syrup, coaxing the tweenager to swallow it down. 

"There now. . .let's just get you settled, shall we? Where does Bilbo keep your night-shirts?" 

Still shaken, Frodo pointed to the cupboard of the wardrobe, huddling into a small bundle as the wizard retrieved a clean gown, returning to the bed and folding back the covers, helping him out of the now perspiration-soaked night-shirt and beginning to sponge him down gently with a cool cloth. 

"I'm sorry, Gandalf - " 

"Sorry?" Gandalf chuckled, shaking his head as he helped Frodo turn onto one side, bathing the tweenager's back. "Nothing to be sorry about, dear boy. You can't help it. I knew you were ill when I offered to sit with you, and if you think this is the first time I've seen this happen, you are *sorely* mistaken about my experience, young Master Baggins!" 

Frodo couldn't help smiling, closing his eyes as Gandalf eased him into the fresh gown. He felt the wizard's hand against his forehead, checking his temperature. To his surprise, instead of tucking him back into bed, Gandalf gathered up the topmost quilt, then put his arms around Frodo, wrapping him in the blanket closest to him, pulling it loose from the sheet tucked beneath it. Carefully he gathered Frodo in his arms, taking up the quilt and returning to the rocking-chair, depositing it in his lap before settling Frodo there. Folding the quilt warmly around the bundle of hobbit, he reached back to the bedside, taking another tiny bit of candied ginger and offering it. Frodo opened his mouth gratefully, taking the sweet before settling against Gandalf's shoulder, resting his head against the worn robe. The familiar scent of pipeweed and something unidentifiable, but sweet-smelling and aromatic all at once. . ."elvish," the tweenager called it in his head, for lack of a better description. . .was soothing, and he began to feel a little better. 

Cradling the young hobbit close, Gandalf began to rock very slowly, continuing, occasionally reaching up to pat Frodo's face with a cool cloth. "Now, then. . .where were we? Ah, yes. . . . With a low bow the prince thanked the king for his warning, and promised to do his best to keep the sheep safe. Then he left the palace and went to the market-place, where he bought two greyhounds, a hawk, and a set of pipes; after that he took the sheep out to pasture. The instant the animals caught sight of the lake lying before them, they trotted off as fast as their legs would go to the green meadows lying round it. The prince did not try to stop them; he only placed his hawk on the branch of a tree, laid his pipes on the grass, and bade the greyhounds sit still; then, rolling up his sleeves and trousers, he waded into the water crying as he did so: 'Dragon! dragon! if you are not a coward, come out and fight with me!' 

"And a voice answered from the depths of the lake: 'I am waiting for you, O prince'; and the next minute the dragon reared himself out of the water, huge and horrible to see. The prince sprang upon him and they grappled with each other and fought together till the sun was high, and it was noonday. Then the dragon gasped: 'O prince, let me dip my burning head once into the lake, and I will hurl you up to the top of the sky.' But the prince answered, 'Oh, ho! my good dragon, do not crow too soon! If the king's daughter were only here, and would kiss me on the forehead, I would throw you up higher still!' And suddenly the dragon's hold loosened, and he fell back into the lake. 

"As soon as it was evening, the prince washed away all signs of the fight, took his hawk upon his shoulder, and his pipes under his arm, and with his greyhounds in front and his flock following after him he set out for the city. As they all passed through the streets the people stared in wonder, for never before had any flock returned from the lake. 

Bilbo tip-toed in, setting a cup and saucer on the bedside table and laying a tiny spoon upon the saucer's edge. Merely smiling, he slipped back out, allowing Gandalf to continue the story. 

"The next morning he rose early, and led his sheep down the road to the lake. This time, however, the king sent two men on horseback to ride behind him, with orders to watch the prince all day long. The horsemen kept the prince and his sheep in sight, without being seen themselves. As soon as they beheld the sheep running towards the meadows, they turned aside up a steep hill, which overhung the lake." The wizard paused a moment, reaching with one hand for the cup. "Let's see here. . .ginger tea. . .smells very nice, doesn't it?" Frodo nodded weakly "" it *did * smell good. Smiling, Gandalf took up the spoon and stirred the drink a little before offering a spoonful to the tweenager in his lap. For half a moment, Frodo hesitated. . .but then yielded, accepting quietly, allowing Gandalf to slowly administer spoonfuls of the warm drink every five minutes or so. 

"When the shepherd reached the place he laid, as before, his pipes on the grass and bade the greyhounds sit beside them, while the hawk he perched on the branch of the tree. Then he rolled up his trousers and his sleeves, and waded into the water crying: 'Dragon! dragon! if you are not a coward, come out and fight with me!' 

"And the dragon answered: 'I am waiting for you, O prince,' and the next minute he reared himself out of the water, huge and horrible to see. Again they clasped each other tight round the body and fought till it was noon, and when the sun was at its hottest, the dragon gasped: 'O prince, let me dip my burning head once in the lake, and I will hurl you up to the top of the sky.' But the prince answered: 'Oh, ho! my good dragon, do not crow too soon! If the king's daughter were only here, and would kiss me on the forehead, I would throw you up higher still!' And suddenly the dragon's hold loosened, and he fell back into the lake. 

"As soon as it was evening the prince again collected his sheep, and playing on his pipes he marched before them into the city. When he passed through the gates all the people came out of their houses to stare in wonder, for never before had any flock returned from the lake. 

"Meanwhile the two horsemen had ridden quickly back, and told the king all that they had seen and heard. The king listened eagerly to their tale, then called his daughter to him and repeated it to her. 'To-morrow,' he said, when he had finished, 'you shall go with the shepherd to the lake, and then you shall kiss him on the forehead as he wishes.' 

"But when the princess heard these words, she burst into tears, and sobbed out: 'Will you really send me, your only child, to that dreadful place, from which most likely I shall never come back?' 

"'Fear nothing, my little daughter, all will be well. Many shepherds have gone to that lake and none have ever returned; but this one has in these two days fought twice with the dragon and has escaped without a wound. So I hope to-morrow he will kill the dragon altogether, and deliver this land from the monster who has slain so many of our bravest men.' 

"Scarcely had the sun begun to peep over the hills next morning, when the princess stood by the shepherd's side, ready to go to the lake. The shepherd was brimming over with joy, but the princess only wept bitterly. 'Dry your tears, I implore you,' said he. 'If you will just do what I ask you, and when the time comes, run and kiss my forehead, you have nothing to fear.' 

"Merrily the shepherd blew on his pipes as he marched at the head of his flock, only stopping every now and then to say to the weeping girl at his side: 'Do not cry so, Heart of Gold; trust me and fear nothing.' 

"And so they reached the lake. In an instant the sheep were scattered all over the meadows, and the prince placed his hawk on the tree, and his pipes on the grass, while he bade his greyhounds lie beside them. Then he rolled up his trousers and his sleeves, and waded into the water, calling: 'Dragon! dragon! if you are not a coward, come forth, and let us have one more fight together.' 

"And the dragon answered: 'I am waiting for you, O prince'; and the next minute he reared himself out of the water, huge and horrible to see. Swiftly he drew near to the bank, and the prince sprang to meet him, and they grasped each other round the body and fought till it was noon. And when the sun was at its hottest, the dragon cried: 'O prince, let me dip my burning head in the lake, and I will hurl you to the top of the sky.' But the prince answered: 'Oh, ho! my good dragon, do not crow too soon! If the king's daughter were only here, and she would kiss my forehead, I would throw you higher still.' 

Hardly had he spoken, when the princess, who had been listening, ran up and kissed him on the forehead. Then the prince swung the dragon straight up into the clouds, and when he touched the earth again, he broke into a thousand pieces. Out of the pieces there sprang a wild boar and galloped away, but the prince called his hounds to give chase, and they caught the boar and tore it to bits. Out of the pieces there sprang a hare, and in a moment the greyhounds were after it, and they caught it and killed it; and out of the hare there came a pigeon. Quickly the prince let loose his hawk, which soared straight into the air, then swooped upon the bird and brought it to his master. The prince cut open its body and found the sparrow inside, as the old woman had said. 

"'Now,' cried the prince, holding the sparrow in his hand, 'now you shall tell me where I can find my brothers.' 

"'Do not hurt me,' answered the sparrow, 'and I will tell you with all my heart.' Behind your father's castle stands a mill, and in the mill are three slender twigs. Cut off these twigs and strike their roots with them, and the iron door of a cellar will open. In the cellar you will find as many people, young and old, women and children, as would fill a kingdom, and among them are your brothers.' 

"By this time twilight had fallen, so the prince washed himself in the lake, took the hawk on his shoulder and the pipes under his arm, and with his greyhounds before him and his flock behind him, marched gaily into the town, the princess following them all, still trembling with fright. And so they passed through the streets, thronged with a wondering crowd, till they reached the castle. 

Here Gandalf paused, gathering an extra quilt from the bed and wrapping it gently around Frodo, then resumed his tale, continuing to coax small spoonfuls of ginger tea into the tweenager's mouth while the lad listened. Frodo snuggled comfortably into the extra warmth, yielding to the tea a bit more eagerly now: he *was * rather thirsty, and the ginger seemed to keep the horrible taste out of his mouth, so he continued to comply. 

"Unknown to anyone, the king had stolen out on horseback, and had hidden himself on the hill, where he could see all that happened. When all was over, and the power of the dragon was broken forever, he rode quickly back to the castle, and was ready to receive the prince with open arms, and to promise him his daughter to wife. The wedding took place with great splendour, and for a whole week the town was hung with coloured lamps, and tables were spread in the hall of the castle for all who chose to come and eat. And when the feast was over, the prince told the king and the people who he really was, and at this everyone rejoiced still more, and preparations were made for the prince and princess to return to their own kingdom, for the prince was impatient to set free his brothers. 

"The first thing he did when he reached his native country was to hasten to the mill, where he found the three twigs as the sparrow had told him. The moment that he struck the root the iron door flew open, and from the cellar a countless multitude of men and women streamed forth. He bade them go one by one wheresoever they would, while he himself waited by the door till his brothers passed through. You can imagine how delighted they were to meet again, and to hear all that the prince had done to deliver them from their enchantment! And they went home with him and served him all the days of their lives, for they said that he only who had proved himself brave and faithful was fit to be king." 

Frodo smiled, drowsiness overtaking him as he listened contentedly, having finally finished the tea. He felt better having had a little more to drink, though he still felt sick to his stomach and shaky, as if trapped between chill and high fever. Gandalf patted his shoulder gently, smiling as he continued slowly rocking. After a few minutes, he began to sing in a low voice, the soft baritone lulling and patient. 

"Eärendil was a mariner  
that tarried in Arvernien;  
he built a boat of timber felled  
in Nimbrethil to journey in;  
her sails he wove of silver fair,  
of silver were her lanterns made,  
her prow was fashioned like a swan,  
and light upon her banners laid.  
In panoply of ancient kings,  
in chained rings he armoured him;  
his shining shield was scored with runes  
to ward all wounds and harm from him;  
his bow was made of dragon-horn,  
his arrows shorn of ebony,  
of silver was his habergeon,  
his scabbard of chalcedony;  
his sword of steel was valiant,  
of adamant his helmet tall,  
an eagle-plume upon his crest,  
upon his breast an emerald. . . 

*Author's Note: Gandalf's story is "The Prince and the Dragon," available online at in Rick Walton's Online Library, where it is credited as from Volksmarehen der Serben. and The Crimson Fairy Book, edited by Andrew Lang. I take no credit for this charming tale, having made only a few small changes in transferring the text to this story. I'm a storyteller as part of my camp counselor/school librarian self, and this is one I love to tell: given how universal various folk themes are throughout the world, I think it entirely plausible that such a tale might indeed have been among the legends with which Gandalf often entertained the hobbits of the Shire. : ) Of course, the song is the beginning of the Song of Earendil, as written by JRR Tolkien himself, which I have not altered in the slightest and for which I claim absolutely no credit. 


	6. The Man in the Moon and Other Peculiarit...

For permission to reproduce, please contact frodobaggins@frodo.com  
  
DISCLAIMER: The characters, places, and story of The Lord of the Rings are the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and consequently of the Tolkien Estate, with select rights by Tolkien Enterprises. This piece appears purely as fanfiction and is not intended to claim ownership of Tolkien's work in any way. Please e-mail me if you have concerns.  
  
Author's Note: My apologies for a slight delay in posting this chapter. . .I hope you'll enjoy even though it's shorter than the last one. :)  
  
SHADOWS IN THE DARKNESS  
  
Chapter Six: The Man in the Moon and Other Peculiarities  
  
  
  
"No. . .no, he's been asleep the whole time, ever since you settled him down. Hasn't thrown up since. It's been half a day already."  
  
"Good, good! Do you want me to take another turn with him while you sleep?"  
  
"No, no, no. . .I had rather a lovely nap while you sat with him today. I'll be fine for a while longer at least. He's been sleeping quietly, so I've been able to work on my book."  
  
Slowly Frodo began to wake, hearing the pair of voices as if from a long distance. From the feel of cool pillows and warm quilts and hot-water bottles, he realised he had been put to bed once more. Someone took the compress from his brow, replacing it with a fresh one. He recognised the familiar scent of Bilbo - pipeweed and freshly baked muffins. A hand touched his face. . .Bilbo's palm against his cheekbone, the touch of the worn nimble fingers soothing.  
  
"Well, I don't mind, when you need me. I'd planned to stay for as long as a fortnight, perhaps, so there's plenty of time."  
  
"Yes, yes, of course. . . ." Bilbo's hand left his face, moving to tuck the blankets around him a bit more closely.  
  
It hurt. . .moving, that was, and as soon as Frodo attempted to shift position a little he regretted it. But he was pleased to discover that he didn't feel in imminent danger of vomiting again, though the eerie combination of chill and heat that troubled him had not abated. Slowly he opened his eyes, looking up at his surroundings. Bilbo came into focus first, bending over his bed, fussing with the covers and hot-water bottles. . .Gandalf sat close by, polishing his pipe. It took less than half a second for Bilbo to notice, and at once he put a hand to Frodo's face once more, smiling warmly.  
  
"There now! How are you feeling, my lad?"  
  
"A little better. . . ." Frodo managed the words through a mouth that felt as if it were full of cotton-wool. Grimacing a little, he tried to push himself up in bed, but promptly sank back onto the pillows, feeling dizzy again. "Not very well still. . . ."  
  
Bilbo put a spoonful of liquid to his lips, and he swallowed eagerly. . .peppermint tea, not too sweet, and just barely warm. "You've been managing so bravely, Frodo. . .I'm very proud of you. Think you could take a little more of this? Just a few spoonfuls. . . ." Frodo nodded, and Bilbo pulled up a chair, continuing to administer small sips of liquid.  
  
Swallowing eagerly (for he felt very thirsty), Frodo looked around. The curtains were still drawn, of course, but no sunlight danced around their edges, and the room seemed quite dark, lit only by his bedside lamp and an extra taper or two about the room. The firelight played shadow-games upon the walls. "What time is it?"  
  
"Half-past two in the morning. You've slept all afternoon and evening, except for our waking you just enough for your medicine and a little tea now and again." Gently Bilbo wiped Frodo's face with a damp cloth, offering a little more tea afterward. "I'm glad you're feeling a little better, my boy; we've been worried silly about you. If you keep improving, perhaps tomorrow night we can try a little broth. . .how does that sound?"  
  
"All right, I suppose. . . . I'm not really hungry." Frodo wasn't; he still felt sick, only taking the tea because it helped ease his thirst and didn't seem to set his stomach back into fits. At once Bilbo's expression tightened with worry, though he forced a smile. . .but Frodo had already noticed. "I'll try. . .maybe by then I'll feel more like a little something."  
  
Looking relieved, Bilbo nodded, setting the cup aside to stroke Frodo's curls, pushing the heavy locks back from the tweenager's flushed features. "You're still running rather a high temperature. . .it'll be good to get a little something more into you; broth's one of the best things for fevers."  
  
Weakly Frodo nodded, feeling exhausted.  
  
"Is there anything I can do for you, Frodo. . .anything you'd like?"  
  
Bilbo's voice was kind, but anxious with worry. Frodo only shook his head.  
  
"No, thank you. . .I'm just. . .tired."  
  
"Try and sleep a little more if you can."  
  
Bilbo replaced the compress once more, sitting carefully on the oversized feather-bed. Stroking Frodo's dark curls gently, he waited while the young hobbit shifted fretfully, trying to get comfortable. As struck by a sudden inspiration, however, the elder Baggins removed the counterpane, adding a lighter quilt to keep his small charge warm. Softly he began to sing. . . .  
  
"The Man in the Moon had silver shoon,  
  
and his beard was of silver thread;  
  
With opals crowned and pearls all bound  
  
about his girdlestead,  
  
In his mantle grey he walked one day  
  
across a shining floor,  
  
And with crystal key in secrecy  
  
he opened an ivory door. . . ."  
  
  
  
*Author's Note: Bilbo's song is, of course, the opening of JRR Tolkien's own "The Man in the Moon Came Down Too Soon," as published in The Tolkien Reader. Of course, we must assume that Bilbo continued the song until his ailing heir fell back into a comfortable sleep. To the perceptive reader who noted the attribution of Gandalf's Earendil song to Bilbo's performance in Rivendell some thirty years later, that is indeed correct. . .but Bilbo often had more help in composing his verses than admitted, and it is entirely possible that his composition, assisted by Aragorn, was based upon previous hearings and merely a more extended version of a song long known to those who frequented Elrond's home. :) 


	7. Shadows

Author's Notes: This is just a simple little chapter, but prepare for Chapter Eight! It's called "The Shrew and the Sour One," if that gives you any idea of what's to come. . .not to mention that a particularly important tale is yet to come, retold by Bilbo himself in a future chapter (I believe it'll be somewhere in Chapters 9-11). And yes, Bilbo's song at the end is, again, the work of JRR Tolkien. Those of you familiar with it as presented in The Tolkien Reader likely know that it's a sign our little Frodo isn't feeling quite so sick at his stomach, given the number of food references in the song! (And for those who are worrying: don't. Frodo won't be better overnight, I promise. . .and I have two other ailing-Frodo fics in the works, preparing to go up in chaptered form as well.) 

For permission to reproduce, please contact frodobaggins@frodo.com 

DISCLAIMER: The characters, places, and story of The Lord of the Rings are the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and consequently of the Tolkien Estate, with select rights by Tolkien Enterprises. This piece appears purely as fanfiction and is not intended to claim ownership of Tolkien's work in any way. Please e-mail me if you have concerns. 

SHADOWS IN THE DARKNESS 

Chapter Seven: Shadows 

It was very cold, as if autumn had already turned to winter. . .and he was walking along the bank of the Brandywine. All was calm, the water lapping gently with the hint of wind. . .but instead of turning to go up the hill to Brandy Hall, as always, he found himself continuing toward the Old Forest. Somehow he knew of its dangers, and yet he continued as casually as if he were on his way to a tea-party or picnic. . . . 

As he entered the forest, gradually venturing deeper, the sun began to set, setting the sky aflame in vivid hues of gold and scarlet, almost the colour of fresh blood. 

He could not understand why, but he had the strangest sense of. . .of being followed, or watched. . . . A dark shadow suddenly swept past him, chilling him to the marrow. . .and then another. . .and another. . .until they surrounded him. . . . 

"There now, Frodo-lad – it's all right! You're safe! Easy now – " 

Frodo sat bolt upright, gasping for breath. . .and immediately regretted the reaction as he swayed. But Bilbo was by the bed, promptly catching the tweenager and easing him gingerly back down to rest against the pillows, tucking him in carefully. Despite the warmth of the room, Frodo still shivered, He blinked in confusion. 

A dream. . .it must have been been a. . .a nightmare of some sort. . . . 

"Just a bad dream. . .but that's all gone now," reassured Bilbo gently, wiping his charge's face with a damp cloth before raising his head just a little, holding a cupful of warm ginger tea to his lips. "Nothing to be frightened about. . .you're safe and sound in your own bed." 

Frodo sighed, still aching all over, his heart pounding as if he were still caught in the forest. He drank carefully, still tasting the tea in tiny sips. . .but the sick feeling seemed to be subsiding, leaving him feeling more thirsty than nauseated. Finishing the small amount of tea, he allowed Bilbo to lay his head back against the pillows, smoothing his covers. 

"Is there anything else I can get for you, my boy?" 

His throat hurt from dryness despite the tea. "Please. . .I'd like a drink of water." 

Bilbo smiled, looking more than a bit pleased. "Of course, of course. . .half a moment and you shall have it!" He turned to the bedside table, and Frodo watched him open a decanter, pouring crystal-clear water into a small glass. Bending over the bed, he held it to Frodo's lips, again raising the boy's head just a bit. "There now. . .slow sips. . .nice and cool. . . ." 

Oh, it WAS. . .Frodo had to forcibly remind himself to keep from gulping it down; he was so very thirsty, and the water tasted absolutely delicious: fresh and clean, soothing against his throat. Bilbo laughed good-naturedly at his eagerness. 

"There now, Frodo, easy, lad! I promise there's plenty more, but you must take it slowly. . .all you want, only not too much at once!" Frodo smiled a little, waiting while Bilbo refilled the glass and offered him a little more. "There's a good lad. . . . You're getting better, much better, you know. . .it's been over a day without you being sick at your stomach. . . . And Gandalf thinks the fever will come down soon. Do you think you might feel up to trying a few spoonfuls of broth tomorrow?" 

Frodo nodded weakly, relieved by this information: the fever continued to make him absolutely miserable, and while he was still much too sick not to enjoy the comfort of staying tucked into a warm bed, he was weary of the uncomfortable shifts between cold and hot that came with chills and high temperature. More times than he could remember, he'd tossed uneasily, one moment clinging to the quilts, the next shoving them away in an effort to get comfortable. 

Setting the glass aside, Bilbo retrieved a pair of hot-water bottles from the hearthside and began replacing the rapidly cooling ones with these, starting with the one tucked at Frodo's feet. Shivering a little as the blankets were lifted even slightly, Frodo suddenly blinked: there was a light tap at the door, followed by the appearance of Gandalf, who stooped and entered, smiling warmly. 

"Well, well, look who's awake!" 

Frodo smiled, nodding a little, adjusting position as Bilbo tucked a fresh hot-water bottle in against his stomach, the pleasant warmth seeming to ease the remaining ache. He was delighted to see Gandalf pull up a chair, taking something from his pocket. 

"Now then, Frodo. . .I'd thought of saving this to do for a birthday of yours some time or another, but it seems the right time." He held out an autumn leaf the size of Frodo's palm, bright gold. Then suddenly – poof! – it lit up, as if there were a light behind it, illuminating the slender veins of the leaf anew. Yet no flame was visible. 

At once Frodo gasped, breaking into a broad smile. "How did you do that?" 

The old wizard grinned, setting the leaf on its stem upon the bedside table, carefully clearing space for it. "Just a simple little trick, my dear boy, that's all! That will burn through the night, until it is fully morning." 

Frodo smiled, watching the leaf with delight, allowing Bilbo to finish settling him back in, feeling his forehead. 

"There's my boy. .do you think you can sleep again, Frodo, at least for a while?" 

"Maybe." In truth, the glow of the leaf seemed to have a tranquil effect, and Frodo felt himself already growing drowsy once more. "Bilbo. . .would you mind singing that song for me. . .please?" 

"The man in the moon?" 

"No. . . ." The tweenager yawned, reaching sleepily for his uncle's hand to hold. "The one about. . .Perry-the-Winkle. . .I like that one too. . . ." 

"Then Perry-the-Winkle it is, then." Bilbo turned to wink at the wizard, taking Frodo's small hand gently between his own and beginning to sing quietly, a jaunty little tune at that: 

"The Lonely Troll he sat on a stone  
and sang a mournful lay:  
'O why, O why must I live on my own  
in the hills of Faraway?  
My folk are gone beyond recall  
and take no thought of me;  
alone I'm left, the last of all  
from Weathertop to the Sea'.  
  
'I steal no gold, I drink no beer,  
I eat no kind of meat;  
but People slam their doors in fear,  
whenever they hear my feet.  
O how I wish that they were neat,  
and my hands were not so rough!  
Yet my heart is soft, my smile is sweet,  
and my cooking good enough.'  
  
'Come, come!' he thought, 'this will not do!  
I must go and find a friend;  
a-walking soft I'll wander through  
the Shire from end to end'.  
Down he went, and he walked all night  
with his feet in boots of fur; to Delving he came in the morning light, when folk were just astir.  
  
Frodo smiled weakly, snuggling into a small bundle, his blue eyes fluttering closed while he listened. Silently Gandalf cast Bilbo a curious look: at the elder hobbit's nod, the wizard began dimming the room, putting out the lights save for the one near Frodo's bed. . .and, of course, the leaf-light.  
  
"He looked around, and who did he meet  
but old Mrs. Bunce and all  
with umbrella and basket walking the street;  
and he smiled and stopped to call:  
'Good morning, ma'am! Good day to you!  
I hope I find you well?'  
But she dropped umbrella and basket too,  
and yelled a frightful yell.  
  
Old Pott the Mayor was strolling near;   
when he heard that awful sound,   
he turned all purple and pink with fear,   
and dived down underground.   
The Lonely Troll was hurt and sad:   
'Don't go!' he gently said,   
but old Mrs. Bunce ran home like mad   
and hid beneath her bed. 

By this time, Frodo had already fallen fast asleep, resting quietly in his nest of covers, with Bilbo's hands cradling his own. 


	8. The Shrew and the Sour One

Author's Notes: I may be a bit slower this weekend posting chapters – my writing's a bit slowed by the arrival of the new reel with TTT preview! So. . .you know where I'll be tonight. ;) Add to that my husband's birthday and Easter Sunday, and perhaps you can find it in your hearts to be patient with me. =) In addition, I'm really trying to focus on the writing: Chapters 8-12 are extremely important, and it's like building a house of cards: you want to do that kind of work VERY carefully and VERY precisely. But don't worry – the updates are still coming! Ideally I'll finish Chapters 9 and 10 Saturday, March 30 and post them then. If I really get rolling, perhaps I'll get all the way through Chapter 12 and beyond this weekend, but we'll see. Again, thank you all SO much for reading and reviewing!  
  
For permission to reproduce, please contact frodobaggins@frodo.com  
  
DISCLAIMER: The characters, places, and story of The Lord of the Rings are the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and consequently of the Tolkien Estate, with select rights by Tolkien Enterprises. This piece appears purely as fanfiction and is not intended to claim ownership of Tolkien's work in any way. Please e-mail me if you have concerns.  
  
SHADOWS IN THE DARKNESS  
  
Chapter Eight: The Shrew and the Sour One  
  
  
  
RAP! RAP! RAP! RAP! RAP!  
  
Frodo awoke, his head aching. Slowly he opened his eyes, blinking weakly in the traces of morning sun filtering through the curtain-edges.  
  
RAP! RAP! RAP! RAP! RAP! RAP! RAP!  
  
Wincing, he turned. Gandalf was at his side, wringing out a fresh cloth.  
  
"Someone's at the door?"  
  
Gandalf nodded. "Bilbo's answering it. I imagine the noise will stop in a moment once whomever it is gets a piece of your uncle's mind – he was quite upset at it just a moment ago, when he went to answer it." He bent over Frodo's bed, a huge shadow, though a comforting one. "Perhaps a drink of water? You must be quite thirsty."  
  
Frodo nodded, wincing a little as the wizard lifted his head from the pillow, though this time the tweenager managed to steady the cup with his own hands, guiding while Gandalf held it. Draining the cupful, he lay back, suddenly aware of raised voices in the hall.  
  
"And just what difference do you think your displeasure makes to me?!?" Bilbo's voice, angry and stiff.  
  
"We have JUST come from our lawyer's, and mind you, this will NOT be allowed to pass unchallenged!" A female hobbit's voice, shrill and pointed. "Why, I'm SURE there's some foul plot afoot! Goodness knows WHAT happened while you were gallivanting about, traipsing all over the world with those disgusting dwarves, not to mention that abominable wizard! He – he probably cast a spell on you!"  
  
Frodo groaned, and Gandalf, who looked very much as if he were attempting to stifle a loud laugh, turned curious eyes toward him.  
  
"Lobelia," Frodo murmured. "You know – Sackville-Baggins? They'd have inherited, you know. . .they came by when I first came to live here, but they didn't know about the inheritance yet, and I suppose they have now, by the sound of it. . . ."  
  
"Now, you know good and well that's not right, doing things that way! I mean, really, old Bilbo, what WERE you thinking?!?" A third voice – Otho, Lobelia's husband, with a tone that would sour honey. "After all, you've probably gone and rigged the whole thing, but we'll get to the bottom of it, oh, yes, we will. . . ."  
  
"Besides," Lobelia interjected petulantly, "not only is he not even yours. . .he's a BRANDYBUCK!" The name exploded on her tongue as if she were speaking of going without meals, and with considerable venom dripping from the edges of her tone.  
  
At once Frodo whitened. He knew what people said, but Primula had been the sort of mother who played games and toys with him for hours on end. . .who always snuck a favourite food onto his plate no matter what. . .who taught him songs and stories and history. . . . When Frodo had had mumps, she sat up all night with him for days, rocking him in her lap and giving him soothing drinks that didn't hurt so much to swallow, When he'd complained of being bored on a rainy afternoon, rather than snapping at him and sending him off to play in the nursery with the other children, she'd taken him upstairs to the main library of Brandy Hall for the first time, introducing him to the vast array of books and maps. She'd brought him to one of Bilbo's parties for the first time, despite his father's worries that perhaps he was still a bit young for Bilbo's tales. He'd always been proud of his Brandybuck blood. . .but on Lobelia's lips, it sounded like poison.  
  
"Now, listen, both of you!" Bilbo insisted loudly. "We'll have to address your concerns another time, preferably in the court! I can't stand here with you in the front hall all day; Frodo's ill in bed."  
  
"Oh! The poor dear! I do hope it's nothing serious?" Lobelia's venomous tone dripped sugary acid.  
  
Watching the young hobbit, Gandalf sighed, kneeling by the bed to stroke the boy's dark hair gently. "Never mind her, Frodo. She envies what is not hers, and what she cannot understand."  
  
Frodo attempted to nod weakly, but the room suddenly seemed to blur and begin spinning. Suddenly he felt chilled and sick, shivering despite the warmth of his bed and room. Gandalf caught him, holding his head and offering a basin as the young hobbit began vomiting. He could no longer make out Bilbo's voice, but Lobelia's tone continued to slice through everything.  
  
"What?!? You're telling * me * to be quiet because THAT BRANDYBUCK is ill? Spoiled is more like it! Coddled little brat – "  
  
Fortunately, the next sound was that of the front-door being slammed, harder than Frodo had ever heard a door slammed. Quick footsteps soon followed. . .and before he knew it, he felt Bilbo'd hand on his back, rubbing gently.  
  
"Oh, my poor boy – there now, ssshhhhhh – "  
  
Frodo gasped as the fit passed, nearly choking. Hurriedly Gandalf helped him rinse and removed the basin before leaving him to rest in Bilbo's reassuring arms, the wizard arranging a few small things and offering them as Bilbo reached: a fresh damp cloth, a compress for the tweenager's forehead, a spoonful of the ginger syrup prescribed by the doctor. At once Bilbo began the chore of undressing him, easing the sweaty night-shirt off and wiping down the boy's fair skin. "There now. . .let's get you a fresh gown and tuck you back in. . . ." He looked up anxiously. "Gandalf, could you possibly step out and send a messenger for Dr. Boffin?"  
  
"Of course." Ruffling Frodo's curls kindly and handing Bilbo the clean night-shirt, Gandalf steps out into the hall, and a few moments later, the door can be heard closing gently. Carefully Bilbo eased him into the fresh gown, buttoning it securely before rising to fetch some fresh hot-water bottles, tucking them in around Frodo, who was shivering. "What's the matter, my dear boy? Not feeling well again?"  
  
"My stomach hurts." This in a weak whisper: Frodo remained very pale, trembling with chills as he curled up on his side, welcoming the hot-water bottle Bilbo placed against his small abdomen before tucking the quilts back over him.  
  
"The doctor will be here soon, my lad. I'm sure he'll have some idea how to help. Try and rest if you can. I'm sorry you were disturbed earlier. . . ."  
  
Frodo nodded a little. . .but began to cry softly, tears streaming down his face. At once Bilbo settled carefully on the bed, putting an arm around him and stroking his curls.  
  
"It's all right, lad. . . ."  
  
But somehow Frodo knew that it wasn't. Closing his eyes tightly, he sobbed, his stomach twisting in aching knots. 


	9. Complications and Concoctions

Author's Notes: Thank you all for the WONDERFUL reviews and for your patience! :) I DID love the preview, though of course I could've done with a bit more Frodo and Sam footage. ;) No surprise there, though. Lovely. . .I hate waiting till Christmas!  
  
Some quick notes: I've included a therapeutics note at the end for the curious. :) Also, while this chapter is purely Bilbo, Frodo, and Dr. Boffin, don't worry. . .in Chapter Ten, you'll find out just where Gandalf has been, and soon you'll be meeting a little neighbour lad (yes, dear readers, I am reading the requests closely!). . . . :)  
  
For permission to reproduce, please contact frodobaggins@frodo.com  
  
DISCLAIMER: The characters, places, and story of The Lord of the Rings are the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and consequently of the Tolkien Estate, with select rights by Tolkien Enterprises. This piece appears purely as fanfiction and is not intended to claim ownership of Tolkien's work in any way. Please e-mail me if you have concerns.  
  
  
  
SHADOWS IN THE DARKNESS  
  
Chapter Nine: Complications and Concoctions  
  
  
  
Much to Bilbo's dismay, Frodo remained inconsolable all morning. Worse still, he continued to have episodes of vomiting, throwing up every bit of liquid his caregivers had managed to get down his throat in the preceding hours, trembling with shaking chills. Still waiting for the doctor to arrive, the elder hobbit continued nursing his little charge, trying to calm him enough to get him back to sleep - or at least quiet rest - with little success.  
  
"There now, my boy. . .sssshhh. . . . Feeling about the same?"  
  
A tiny nod. "My stomach hurts. . . ."  
  
Bilbo sighed anxiously. The same response, unchanged for more than four hours now; nothing seemed to help the child. Rising, he retrieved a fresh hot-water bottle, bringing it back and lifting the covers just sufficiently to replace the one resting against Frodo's small belly, quickly tucking him back in to avoid exacerbating the chills. Carefully he laid one hand against the boy's face: the fever wasn't burning the child up any longer, but it most certainly had not disappeared. . .Frodo felt too warm to the touch.  
  
Gandalf, meanwhile, had all but disappeared, saying that he had to attend to an urgent matter and would return shortly. He was not yet back when Dr. Boffin arrived, clucking his tongue anxiously when he saw the sick child. Bending tensely over the bed, he repeated his examination, not without some reluctance from Frodo, who whimpered as the doctor pressed lightly on his stomach.  
  
"Had you started him back on anything other than the herbal tea and some water or light juice?"  
  
Bilbo shook his head, holding Frodo's hand in an effort to calm him. "No. . .he'd not been sick in more than a day now, so we were planning to start with a few spoonfuls of plain broth today."  
  
Dr. Boffin nodded, studying Frodo with curious appraisal. He took the boy's hands, pressing slightly, and frowned as he looked down at them, nodding to Bilbo. "See here, how a bit of pressure dents the skin just a bit. . .it shouldn't do that. He must have more fluids. I'd hoped he might bounce back quickly enough, that by now he'd be feeling much better and giving you fits trying to keep him on a simple diet while his stomach recovers. . .but with the persistent fever and a return of the vomiting, I'm very concerned. He isn't getting enough liquids and he's losing them constantly."  
  
Nervously Bilbo nodded. "What should we do, then? I - I mean, we've tried giving him water and the tea mixtures, and - "  
  
"Oh, you did nothing wrong, Mr. Baggins, I assure you. . .that was the right thing to do, and nothing more than what I instructed!" The doctor turned back to study Frodo, who lay curled in a little ball, blue eyes tightly shut, still shivering. "Has the boy had any upset. . .anything to frighten him, or make him feel uncomfortable?"  
  
At once Bilbo winced, nodding. "Yes - I'm afraid a relative stopped by and created a bit of a ruckus before I could stop her. She. . ." He lowered his voice, leaning closer. "She's particularly sour towards the lad, simply because the child will inherit all I have rather than it going to her, but the way she addresses that is particularly poisonous. I'm afraid it had rather a bad effect for him to hear her shouting about him being a Brandybuck and such."  
  
"Absolutely." Dr. Boffin's expression grew grim. "It is imperative that we try to avoid further incidents of that nature, Mr. Baggins. . .put a sign on the door, whatever you must." His voice dropped another level. "You may have realised by now how sensitive he is. It's not uncommon among orphans taken in or adopted, but he does seem to be extremely so. What he needs more than anything else to help him get well is your affection and attention. . .it is imperative he feel safe and loved here. Getting over stomach flu's bad enough, but when one has a nervous stomach on top of that, it's a bit of a slow process. . .and I'm concerned that his temperature won't come down until we can get him to take a bit more to drink. It is most important that he feel comfortable here. . .and on that basis, I actually think that we may need to go ahead and try feeding him a little, even though he's still been throwing up. Nothing much at first, mind you, not until he's asking for food: we have to trust his stomach to know what's best here, but he needs to be getting something down. I think if you can get him comfortable and secure, then he might have a fair chance at keeping something on his stomach now that the flu's passing."  
  
Anxiously Bilbo nodded. "I'll do my best, of course. . .whatever you say."  
  
The doctor sighed, studying the shivering patient for a moment. "Has he any friends you might have stop by to visit? At this point, he's no longer contagious; it would be safe for him to have guests for short periods, so long as he is kept quietly resting in bed."  
  
The elder Baggins pondered this. "I'm afraid most of his friends are his cousins in Bucklebury. . .especially young Merry. . .but that's a bit of a journey. He's not had time enough to make many friends here yet, and the lad always has been fairly solitary. . . ."  
  
"In that case, do what you can yourself. . .anything will help. Talking to him, rubbing his back, reading to him, trying to coax him into favourite food or drinks. . .anything that makes him feel safe and wanted." Dr. Boffin pauses for a moment, keeping his voice very low as he resumes. "Bilbo. . .I must tell you that I saw Dr. Headstrong two days ago, while I was up to Frogmorton to get some herbs from the healer there, and he had come to speak with their young apprentice, Carnation, about doing some training in Buckland while caring for one of his patients. . .and I spoke to him about Frodo. He tells me the boy seemed to have little of that after a time. . .within months after it happened, there was a new baby in the family, and with one thing after another, he was set with his tutor and expected to continue growing up. He was ill more than a few times during the following years, and Dr. Headstrong says he's never seen a more serious little boy. . .such a sombre little creature, and a bit frail at that." The physician pauses to pat Frodo's head with a cool cloth. "He also said the boy had an aunt who seemed to care a great deal for him, who acted as something of an adoptive mother, but otherwise had few who gave him much attention, though she did seem to care for him as Primula might have. That's what he holds as the cause of the youngster's wildness for a bit there: the child went from having loving parents to having. . .well, a loving family, but a family too big to pay attention to him save for one very kind aunt, who still did not understand his interest in things such as. . .well, to be frank, your tales. Kind, but not able to understand the child at all. Some of his relations considered him a bit too spoiled, but Dr. Headstrong thought the problem quite the opposite. In any case. . .when I told him of the lad's illness, he thought it might take a bit of extra reassurance from you to help things along. Always has been a sensitive child."  
  
Listening attentively, Bilbo nodded, his brown eyes tense with sorrow as he gazed at Frodo, who seemed to have fallen asleep at last, still trembling. "Poor little one. . .I had some idea, of course, but I thought perhaps it was simply my perception of things. He always seemed so happy here. . . ."  
  
"Yes, he's a resilient little fellow. Very tough at the core. Dr. Headstrong says he'd never have believed anyone could pull through the bout with pneumonia the child had the winter after losing his parents. But next thing anyone knew, there he was, back up and about and underfoot all the time." Dr. Boffin smiled, ruffling the lad's curls. "Well now! Enough talk; I'd best give you the instructions and leave so young Frodo can rest. Keep giving him liquids as I recommended before and press him to drink as much as possible, in small amounts at a time. . .but go ahead and try giving him some broth today, and see if he can keep that down; make certain there's a good bit of salt in it. You also can try a little porridge made from crushed linseed in warm milk with a spoonful of honey. . .very soothing for the stomach. Once he wishes to eat a bit, you can start adding in soups, then light things, easy on the stomach. . .oatmeal porridge, lightly cooked eggs, applesauce, toast. . .then stewed fruit, mashed vegetables and such. A good serving of potato soup and of mushroom soup daily would be healthy for him once he's eating a bit. But first things first: I'll come back to see him tomorrow, to make certain he's taking fluids well enough." He took a bottle of dark brown syrup from his bag. "Young Carnation put this together. . .I understand they've had wonderful results with it. Peppermint and raspberry syrup; it's really quite delicious, and it should help the nausea. Give him a tablespoonful; if he doesn't feel better after an hour, give him another. . .after that, a tablespoonful as needed, though I think two will control an episode for at least a few hours. You may want to give it before meals if he's still feeling very ill much of the time, to help him take at least a few sips of something. Keep up the chamomile-mint syrup as I've instructed, and use the ginger syrup every eight hours, just three times a day, in addition to any episodes of vomiting. He still needs to be kept warm and comfortable in bed. Hot-water bottles to ease the tummyache, quilts, cool cloths for his head so long as he's well tucked in. . .sponge baths to keep the fever down a bit and make him feel a little better. . .in bed until the fever's been down at least three days, as I said before. Is that all clear?"  
  
Bilbo nodded, scrawling notes out on a small tablet from his pocket. "Yes. . .yes, I think so. . .all right, I've got it. . . ."  
  
"Excellent." Rising, the doctor reached down, tucking the covers around Frodo's small shoulders and setting the bottle of medicine on the bedside table. "Call for me sooner if he grows worse. Hopefully with plenty of calm and good care he'll be on the path to recovery soon."  
  
But Bilbo noticed that the doctor did not smile. . .in fact, his expression as he turned to close the door was a grim one indeed, and the look he cast toward the resting Frodo was eerily tense.  
  
~To Be Continued~  
  
  
  
Author's Notes on Therapeutics: Dr. Boffin's concern that Frodo is becoming dehydrated is certainly understandable, hence his insistence that the boy needs plenty of fluids. The rapid restarting is something he chances on the hope that today's relapse, being due largely to nerves and stress, will be responsive to reassurance and attentive nursing.  
  
Why potato soup and mushroom soup? Potatoes are rich in potassium, while mushrooms (which are also rich in potassium according to some sources) are a favourite food of hobbits, and especially of young Frodo. In human medicine, mushrooms would likely be frowned up as too likely to be hard on the stomach, but I suspect that in this respect hobbits are different from their larger counterparts, and a young hobbit fond of mushrooms might likely find a smooth mushroom soup comforting rather than tummyache- inducing. :) Since potassium is lost in vomiting due to the production of a metabolic acidosis, with renal excretion of bicarbonate (in short, people who are vomiting a great deal lose lots of potassium in their urine), replacement of this mineral would be very important. Obviously, Dr. Boffin doesn't have a lab to run these tests, but he might well know through observation that patients given certain types of food after bouts of vomiting seemed to recover better than those who did not. . . .  
  
Some of the dishes the doctor has in mind are traditional invalid-cookery, which is a whole class of cooking in and of its own right: arrowroot gruel, shirred eggs, delicate puddings and custards, and light, nourishing soups all belong to this category. (For further reading, I recommend Fannie Farmer's Food and Cookery for the Sick and Convalescent, Boland's Handbook of Invalid Cookery, and the modern Pat Willard's A Soothing Broth as starting-places.) This would likely be a familiar matter in many Shire households given that the sick would usually be cared for at home, with the importance hobbits place on food; Bilbo shouldn't have any difficulty in piecing such things together. :)  
  
Needless to say, there's some element of creative measure in mind here. I'm not saying these remedies are direct human equivalents; they aren't, and what is good for a hobbit isn't always good for Big Folk! ;) But the herbs cited are indeed used for the purposes described here in human herbal medicine, for those curious to know. :) 


	10. Mud Puddles and Sweet Butter

Author's Note: As always, thank you to all my readers. . .especially for the reviews, which SO encourage me to continue (and to try and work quickly!). Without you guys, I probably wouldn't still be writing on Fanfiction.Net. I hope you enjoy reading each new chapter as much as I enjoy writing them for your pleasure! Please note that while this is a VERY short chapter, I have Chapter 11 almost ready and will complete and post after I get back from the movie again (my 23rd time, Minx! :) ) As to whether little Frodo will get better or worse. . .well, we'll just have to wait and see!  
  
Speaking of which. . .good to hear someone else has seen this an appalling number of times! ;) :) BellaMonte, glad you enjoyed the trailer preview too! (Did everyone see this already and enjoy it? :) Hope so!)  
  
GoldenWolf, dear heart, you know how you can remedy that. . .WRITE! :) Please, give us something more? :) I've missed your work SO much. . .you are such an inspiration. Please keep the light burning for all of us.  
  
darthmorgana, I couldn't believe it when I saw your review. . .are you serious?!?! I positively MELTED over your first chapter and am following avidly. . .please, please, I can't wait for more! (And your little blue- eyed boy sends big hugs. :) )  
  
Arien, m'dear, you spoiled us all with your latest lovely tale. You spoil us every time you post another fic! :) I always get such joy from reading your work. :)  
  
Everyone. . .thank you all so much for bringing so much joy to my life. It is an honour to write for you. :) Please keep reading and reviewing. :) I'll be addressing some additional questions and comments in my Chapter 11 Author's Notes, so please stay tuned! :)  
  
For permission to reproduce, please contact frodobaggins@frodo.com  
  
DISCLAIMER: The characters, places, and story of The Lord of the Rings are the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and consequently of the Tolkien Estate, with select rights by Tolkien Enterprises. This piece appears purely as fanfiction and is not intended to claim ownership of Tolkien's work in any way. Please e-mail me if you have concerns.  
  
  
  
SHADOWS IN THE DARKNESS  
  
Chapter Ten: Mud Puddles and Sweet Butter  
  
"How is he?"  
  
Bilbo looked up from Frodo's bedside, where he sat changing the boy's compresses and hot water-bottle, the evening hints of golden sunset beginning to show through the edges of the curtains. In the doorway stood Gandalf, his countenance open with concern.  
  
"No better, no worse. . .he's been asleep, mostly. Woke up an hour ago feeling ill and took his medicine, drank three sips of chamomile tea for me, and went right back to sleep." He eyed the wizard curiously. "I wasn't sure you'd be back."  
  
"I said I planned to stay for a fortnight, Bilbo Baggins, and I intend to do so, as long as my welcome isn't worn through already." Gandalf smiled, his voice merry as he stepped inside, closing the little round door gently. He managed to successfully duck the frame before coming to sit by Frodo's bed, studying the boy carefully. "I'm sorry to have left you at such a time, my friend, but I had things to do." His eyes sparkled, and at once he took out a small piece of wood and a little knife and began to carve quietly.  
  
Bilbo eyed him curiously. "What sort of things?"  
  
The wizard arched his eyebrows casually. "Oh, nothing really, nothing at all. . . . Allow me to say, however, that I saw Lobelia and Otho, and wouldn't you know that. . .despite the dry weather these few days. . .they drove right through a mud-puddle? Lobelia was quite covered, I believe, and screeching like an owl at her husband, who'd gotten splattered as well. . . ."  
  
A chuckle bubbled forth as Bilbo settled a fresh hot-water bottle against Frodo's stomach, tucking him back in warmly. "Dear me! My, Gandalf, but you *do* have a way with things! I would love to have seen her face; I'm sure it would have soured sweet butter!"  
  
"Indeed it would have." Fairly grinning, Gandalf continued carving. "And you needed time with the boy. He loves you very much, you know."  
  
Bilbo nodded, his expression growing dim again as he looked back at the sick tweenager. "I'm worried about him, Gandalf. He hasn't been this ill in quite a while. . . ."  
  
"He'll pull through. He's very strong. And surprising, like some other Bagginses I've known."  
  
At this, Frodo began to stir a little, whimpering as he started to wake. Bilbo promptly slipped his hand into one of the lad's, smiling kindly. "There now, Frodo. . .sssshhh. . .it's all right."  
  
The dark eyelashes fluttered, blue eyes opening slowly, still overly bright with fever. "Bilbo?"  
  
"Yes, my boy. . .I'm here."  
  
"Please. . .I'm thirsty."  
  
Gently Bilbo brought the cup of chamomile tea to the dry lips, tipping it gently for the boy to sip. Frodo drank carefully, finishing perhaps a third of the small tea-cupful before pressing Bilbo's hand, indicating for him to stop. Cooperating with the youngster's wishes, Bilbo set that aside, stroking the damp curls, and started to speak - but his attention was caught by the soft creak of the door, and a pair of brown eyes that peered through. . . .  
  
~To Be Continued~ 


	11. The Comfort of Friends

Author's Note: Thank you all for the patience and reviews! :) Yes, Minx. . .our little one needs IV fluids and crushed ice, but since it's Middle- Earth. . .he is indeed about to get the closest one can come to it, including a bit of force-feeding from Bilbo. :) Thus far, Bilbo's attempts to get a spoonful in every now and then have been what's kept him from getting past help. But the lad's going to need more than that to get better. . . .  
  
A special thanks to the many who've praised my detail and research! That REALLY means a great deal to me, since I pride myself on such matters. . .detail is everything. :) Most of the herbalist information I knew already from extensive reading and research; however, I always do some confirmation reading and such when writing a new chapter or fic, and this time was no exception. :)  
  
Eryniell, if you do hear of other sick Frodo fics, please do let me know as well. . .obviously I enjoy them. :) The ones I can recall offhand would be many of our other dear revewiers': Arien, Rufferto, GoldenWolf, Epona, darthmorgana, LilyBaggins (slash of varying degrees - I do love her "Come Back to the Light". . . . :) I collaborate with the lovely Rufferto in some of the Frodo work for "Of Dreams and Rings," and GoldenWolf and I do plan to continue "Fear of Leaving" as well. But check out those authors and the items in my Favorite Stories section if you haven't already. . .and bring TONS of tissues!  
  
Everyone. . .thank you all so much for bringing so much joy to my life. It is an honour to write for you. :) Please keep reading and reviewing. :) I'll be addressing some additional questions and comments in my Chapter 11 Author's Notes, so please stay tuned! :)  
  
For permission to reproduce, please contact frodobaggins@frodo.com  
  
DISCLAIMER: The characters, places, and story of The Lord of the Rings are the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and consequently of the Tolkien Estate, with select rights by Tolkien Enterprises. This piece appears purely as fanfiction and is not intended to claim ownership of Tolkien's work in any way. Please e-mail me if you have concerns.  
  
  
  
SHADOWS IN THE DARKNESS  
  
Chapter Eleven: The Comfort of Friends  
  
  
  
Bilbo turned toward the door, smiling a little through his tired expression. "Come in, Sam. . .don't stand in the hall like a miniature hobgoblin! I'm sorry if your Gaffer didn't tell you; I can't do your lesson this evening. Frodo's still very sick, and needs me taking care of him."  
  
The door opened a bit more, tentatively. . .and a small hobbit-lad stepped shyly inside, his coppery chestnut curls shining in the dim light. He looked around the room with wide brown eyes, and one might have guessed from the plain, well-mended green and yellow trousers and shirt that he has rarely seen such extravagance. Remembering his manners, he bowed to Gandalf and Bilbo, glancing to the wizard with eyes large as saucers.  
  
"Beggin' your pardon, Mr. Bilbo, sir, I didn't mean to disturb. . .my Gaffer only wanted to know if you'd like him to run any errands tomorrow, since we're all done for the week but a bit o'weeding, and I can do that. He said if Mr. Frodo was still so sick, you might have things that wanted doing that usually wouldn't."  
  
"That's very kind of him." Smiling, Bilbo stroked Frodo's curls a bit more as the lad stirred again, the blue eyes open and alert now. . .and gazing curiously in the direction of the small visitor. "Frodo. . .this is Samwise Gamgee, the Gaffer's young son I was telling you about not long ago. Sam, this is Frodo. . .of course you've heard all about him."  
  
Frodo mustered a weak smile, raising his hand in greeting. Sam's eyes widened further, if that was possible, and he looked from Frodo back to Bilbo, then back to Frodo again.  
  
"Pleasure to meet you, sir! Samwise Gamgee, at your service. My Da takes care of the gardens and I help him. . .though I 'spect you know that. . . ." He blushed furiously, shuffling one foot.  
  
"Yes. . .he's very nice. I like talking with him." A slight smile warmed Frodo's expression, and Bilbo took advantage of his young charge's distraction to check his other hand for the easy indenting Dr. Boffin had shown him. Anxiously he looked up at Gandalf, then back to the sick child.  
  
"Frodo, my lad. . .I need to make a list of what I'd like the Gaffer to get from market for me in the morning, and you need something to drink. I've some broth on cooking, and I can make you some toast-water. . . ."  
  
"My stomach. . . ."  
  
"This will be easy on your stomach, dear boy. I promise." Bilbo took up the bottle and spoon nearest the edge of the bedside table, pouring a tablespoonful of peppermint-raspberry leaf syrup and touching it to the lad's lips. "There now. . .swallow that down, just a bit more medicine, and you should feel better by the time I have it ready."  
  
Frodo obeyed, swallowing weakly. "All right. . . ."  
  
Glancing knowingly at Gandalf, Bilbo nodded to the smaller lad. "Frodo, would you mind Sam sitting with you while Gandalf and I tend to things in the kitchen? Sam, do you think you could stay here with Frodo for a little time while I make him something to drink and make the list for your father? I'm doing it in pictures for him, of course, with words beside it for you to practise." He smiled, ruffling Frodo's curls lovingly. "I need some special things for my boy, since he's been so sick. . .Frodo, is there anything you think you might especially like? Anything at all that sounds pleasant to you?"  
  
The younger Baggins pondered for a moment. "I like applesauce. . .and toast. . .but I'm not hungry. . .maybe later. . .I'm tired of throwing everything back up. . . ."  
  
"You've got to keep taking a little something, though, to make sure you don't," Bilbo prodded, attempting to reassure him. "I'll tell you what, my boy: I'll plan some surprises for you, and you can try them if you feel up to it. Liquids mostly, but when you want something more, just say the word and your uncle Bilbo will fix it for you."  
  
Frodo smiled. "Thank you. . .I'll. . .let you know. . .I promise. . . . I don't mind Sam staying, either. . .I just want to lie still. . . ."  
  
Sam nodded eagerly. "I can sit here with him, Mr. Bilbo, sir! I'll be quiet if he wants, and if he even so much as blinks for wantin' you I'll run right to the kitchen and fetch you at once; I promise."  
  
"Good! I'll be back soon, Frodo. . . ." Gently Bilbo bent over the lad, kissing his forehead between replacing cool compresses before departing the room, motioning for Gandalf to follow, leaving the two boys alone.  
  
Sam smiled nervously, wringing his hands as he steps closer to the bed. Clearly the boy couldn't be more than eight or nine, and Frodo smiled. . .it brought back memories of younger cousins at Brandy Hall.  
  
"I'm sorry I haven't met you, sooner, sir, but you were so busy, and then my Da says you've been real sick with th' tummyache and had to stay in bed."  
  
Frodo nodded weakly, still resting against his pillows. "It's all right. . .it couldn't be helped."  
  
"Is your belly still hurtin' sir? You look like you're feelin' awful, if I could say so - "  
  
"Mmm-hmm." Nodding, Frodo huddled miserably beneath the covers. "Uncle Bilbo's been giving me medicine, but the hot water-bottles help more than anything else."  
  
Samwise nodded sagely, climbing onto Bilbo's vacated stool beside the bed. "There's nothin' helps a bad tummyache so much as somethin' warm." He fidgetted shyly. "Sir, is there anythin' I can do for you? Your uncle's goin' to bring you somethin' to drink that'll settle your stomach a bit, just like he said, and he'll be back real soon, I'm sure. . . ." His eyes widened a little. "You've not eaten anything since this started?"  
  
Shaking his head, Frodo shuddered. "No. . .just herb drinks and things like that. . .I've not been well enough for anything else. Just the thought. . . ." He made a slight face, wrinkling his nose.  
  
The younger boy gasped in shock. "But. . .I didn't think a body could GO that long without eatin' somethin'. . .that's unnatural! Not good for you!"  
  
"Neither is throwing up all the time, which is what keeps happening." Frodo lies quietly for a moment. "I'm a little thirsty, though. . .is there anything to drink? Bilbo keeps things on the table there by my bed. . . ."  
  
Sam looked, evaluating the array carefully. "Here we are! I think this is it, Mr. Frodo. . .would you rather have a drink o'water or a few sups of this tea? I think it's ginger, smells like candy. Which do you want?"  
  
"Just water, please. . .not very much." Frodo pushed himself up on his arm, nodding for the younger child to help by holding the glass to his lips. As it turned out, Sam seemed to have little difficulty with this, balancing the container expertly and supporting Frodo with his other arm before removing the glass when the patient finished. "Thank you. . . ."  
  
"Oh, 'tweren't nothin', Mr. Frodo!" Sam set the glass aside, looking genuinely delighted. "Now, anythin' else I can do for you? Maybe a bit of talk about the garden, or another warm blanket?"  
  
**************************************************************************** *********  
  
"He's got to take a little something soon, Gandalf! Hobbits weren't meant to live like this; a young hobbit his age can't go like this for long without it affecting him badly."  
  
In the kitchen, Bilbo stood at the counter-top, cutting crusts from two slices of bread, putting them on to toast as he turns back to a large pot, removing bits of chicken with a slotted spoon and setting them into a small bowl. Gandalf sat on a stool close by, slightly hunched over to avoid the ceiling.  
  
"He'll manage, Bilbo. I know you're worried, and so am I. He's very ill. But you can't rush his recovery. . .just settle for trying to get him to drink a little something. The rest will follow if you keep doing that."  
  
Bilbo sighed, removing the now-golden brown toast and setting a slice into a small mixing-bowl, carefully pouring a cup of boiling water over it and setting that to cool a moment. "If you wouldn't mind helping me gather my thoughts, I'd appreciate it. . .it's the only thing that helps. We'll have to draw for the Gaffer, though Sam can help him a bit with reading it. Let's see. . . ." He took up the bowl, straining the water into a teacup and cutting the second toast-slice into tiny cubes, sprinkling them atop the water in the teacup. "A couple loaves of bread from the Muffin Tin. . .one slightly stale if they have it; better for dishes like this, strange as that sounds. . .hrm. . . ." The elder Baggins sighed and turned to set the teacup on a small saucer and put it on the waiting tray, arranging a tiny pitcher of milk and bowl of sugar beside it. Ladling broth into a small mug, he glanced toward the wizard, his expression tense.  
  
"I didn't really feel I wanted children about, you know, save to tell them stories and spoil them a bit and send them off home to their parents after. But then. . .Drogo and Primmy had that child, and. . .well, he was special, I suppose. Particularly after they were gone, the poor boy. But I'm not the sort that's good for a small child, Gandalf; I haven't the patience or inclination with the young ones all the time. Angeline had the patience to deal with a child growing up, bless her, but I couldn't get him out of my head just the same. We got to be very close. And now. . . ."  
  
Bilbo paused, checking everything over and reaching for a pitcher, pouring a tiny juice-glassful of apple juice.  
  
"Well, I must admit I rather enjoy having the boy around. . .he's excellent company, old enough for that now, but still young enough he looks at me and I see the same shine as I do in the eyes of the smallest ones. It's. . .almost like having a son of my own."  
  
Swallowing quickly, he lifted the tray, nodding firmly.  
  
"The list can wait a few minutes. I want to get back to him."  
  
~To Be Continued~ 


	12. "Right As Rain"

Author's Notes: The pacing's slowed a little from my original plan, but so long as we're all enjoying ourselves I'm not inclined to fret overly about that. Basically, all it means is more story than initially planned. Please, please, withhold your groans of protest. ;)  
  
I did forget to note this in the last chapter, but Bilbo's procedures in preparing Frodo's tray are indeed accurate: toast-water is a traditional recommendation in invalid-cookery for severe nausea, and is reported as often staying down when nothing else will. Bilbo's preparation is much the same method as used by Fannie Farmer, which appears in her book and is repeated in Pat Willard's A Soothing Broth, which also provides the recipe for the chicken broth included in this scene. (See Chapter 9 for references and titles). It is highly likely that an investigation of Bilbo's kitchen-shelves would reveal several cookbooks, including at least one on cooking for the sick. . .perhaps one of Belladonna Took's old treasures, and very handy with Bilbo's young heir proving to be in variable health. While Bilbo's not going to force a meal down the boy, he is indeed going to press him to take some more liquids: Frodo is, as Dr. Boffin recognised, trapped in something of a self-perpetuating circle of problems. The dehydration makes him feel worse, which makes him feel less interested in drinking or eating, which of course leads to further dehydration, which makes him feel even worse. . . . Had the developments existed in the Shire, he would already have been hospitalised and put on intravenous fluids and injections for his nausea, with things like acetaminophen to reduce fever and aches, but since the Shire reflects a more Victorian setting for medicine, they're kind of stuck with bed rest and comfort care.  
  
As an FYI aside to Minx and others. . .I've decided to go ahead and begin a chaptered fic of the second memory in "Mithril" – yes, Frodo's illness. ;) So there's additional angst-ridden ailing Frodo ahead. ;) That one is likely to be rather long. . . and as I've rather a miserable cold and sore throat at present myself, the first chapter should be up soon. (Nothing like inspiration, but this is inspiration I could gladly have done without! If I were out sick, these chapters would actually go up faster, but we're dealing with a deadline at work, so my writing skills have to go into other documents for most of my day these days. My apologies!) And the other chaptered fic I've been planning is still coming; it's been delayed by my restarting it yesterday. Finally figured out how it should open, which made my current Chapter 1 become Chapter 3 or so, forcing me to write a new Chapter 1 and 2. It's set in the Caradhras scenes, slightly AU due to the fact that we have sufficient detail from Tolkien to know that in his books it didn't happen * quite * the way I'm writing it. . . . ;)  
  
And Minx, time for us to call in the psyc-docs for group therapy, I'm afraid. Should we serve mushrooms in the poor little patient's honour at our first meeting?  
  
Again, thank you all SO much for reading and reviewing!  
  
For permission to reproduce, please contact frodobaggins@frodo.com  
  
DISCLAIMER: The characters, places, and story of The Lord of the Rings are the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and consequently of the Tolkien Estate, with select rights by Tolkien Enterprises. This piece appears purely as fanfiction and is not intended to claim ownership of Tolkien's work in any way. Please e-mail me if you have concerns.  
  
SHADOWS IN THE DARKNESS  
  
Chapter Twelve: "Right As Rain"  
  
  
  
"Now, then, my boy. . .try and drink some sips of this for me, won't you?"  
  
Frodo looked up as Bilbo brought in a tray, Gandalf following. His stomach tightened, and he winced. "I don't know if I can. . . ."  
  
Wearily Bilbo sat down, his brown eyes dark with fear. "Please, Frodo. You've got to. If there's anything else you'd rather have to drink, name it and I'll make it, get it, whatever you like. . .but you must drink SOMETHING, my boy. Even a few sips every few minutes."  
  
Sam watched, eyes wide, rising promptly to skitter out of the elder hobbit's way and nearly bumping up against Gandalf's legs. This promptly evoked a soft chuckle from the wizard, who reached down to pat the boy's head.  
  
"All right, then." Sighing, Frodo nodded weakly in the tray's direction.  
  
Looking relieved to only slight degree, Bilbo seated himself on the stool, taking up the glassful of toast-water. "Milk or sugar? That sweetens toast-water up a bit, but it's good just to drink it like this, if you can."  
  
"Plain's fine." He allowed Bilbo to lift his head gently, bringing the cup to his lips and tilting it to allow slow sips of the heated drink. To his surprise, it * did * seem to go down without unsettling his stomach, and he drank a little more willingly this time. It seemed to keep his stomach from tightening as if to rebel again.  
  
"Good. . .there's a good boy, now," Bilbo coaxed, continuing to administer small sips as Frodo took them. "That's what you need. . .just a bit more. . . ."  
  
At last Frodo raised his hand, tightening his lips. "No more, please. . .what was the other cup? It smells like soup. . . ."  
  
"It is. Fresh chicken broth, nice and warm. Would you try a little for me?"  
  
Weakly Frodo nodded. It actually smelled appealing, and he had been craving something salty. Again Bilbo brought the cup to his lips and he drank, allowing his guardian to tip the vessel back now and then to offer a few minutes' rest. "Tastes good. . . ."  
  
"I'm glad." Bilbo spoke soothingly, his voice calm and measured. "If you want more in a little while, you may have more. . .there's plenty."  
  
"Maybe later. . . " Yawning, Frodo finished the cupful, draining it to the bottom, before snuggling into the quilts, curling up against Bilbo's arm. "I'm tired. . .want to sleep. . . ."  
  
"Then sleep for a while." Bilbo eased him back onto the pillows, setting the cup aside and replacing the hot water-bottle once more, tucking his charge back in snugly before feeling the lad's forehead. Bending to kiss it, he waits. . .and within a moment, the younger Baggins sleeps. Rising, Bilbo turned, shaking his head as he looked up at Gandalf.  
  
"He still feels feverish to me, Gandalf. At least he got something down. . .do you think it'll help him?"  
  
Young Samwise was still watching in awe, looking on silently. . .until this moment, at least. At the question, he reached up to touch Bilbo's hand.  
  
"Beggin' your pardon, Mr. Bilbo, sir. . .but don't you fret none about that. Mum always said that for th' stomach flu, when somethin' more than a sip o'tea stays down, th' temperature'll follow. She always did say that. . .and I know Mr. Frodo's real delicate and everythin', but if you'll forgive my sayin' so, he's a brave one, and he'll pull through it, right as rain."  
  
Gandalf smiled, taking his customary seat. "Out of the mouths of babes, Bilbo. The boy's right. If Frodo's well enough to drink some broth, he's well enough for his body to fight off the fever. No doubt he'll soon be asking for more, and with a bit more to drink he'll begin feeling better." He nodded in Sam's direction. "Now. . .if you two want to finish that list, Bilbo, I'll sit with Frodo. It won't take you very long, and I'll call you at once if he wakes."  
  
Bilbo looked back at the bed, studying Frodo anxiously. "Please do. . .even if he so much as whimpers, do call me back. I don't want him to feel I've left him."  
  
"I promise." The wizard smiled kindly, then took the piece of wood and knife from his pocket, beginning to carve again. . .a small creature of some sort, its shape not yet discernable.  
  
"All right, then." Drawing a deep breath, Bilbo smiled. "Now, Sam. . .let's go and finish that list for your Gaffer!"  
  
And with that, the pair departed for the kitchen, leaving Gandalf watching over a peacefully sleeping Frodo, his small face still flushed in feverish contrast to the snowy pillowcase beneath his dark curls.  
  
~To Be Continued~ 


	13. Nightmares, Memories, and Mushroom Soup

Author's Notes: My deepest apologies for the delay, dear readers. . .being out sick speeds up my writing a bit, but not quite enough to make up for the number of naps I end up having to take! Fortunately, writer's block doesn't seem to be one of my symptoms. . . . I hope to have Chapter 14 up some time before the end of the day on Thursday, April 4, but will probably be posting Chapter 1 of another story or two tonight or tomorrow; we'll see. I'm kind of in the right mood for working on the piece referenced in "Mithril." Thank you for your patience. . .and for reading and reviewing! I hope you enjoy this chapter. :) 

For permission to reproduce, please contact frodobaggins@frodo.com 

DISCLAIMER: The characters, places, and story of The Lord of the Rings are the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and consequently of the Tolkien Estate, with select rights by Tolkien Enterprises. This piece appears purely as fanfiction and is not intended to claim ownership of Tolkien's work in any way. Please e-mail me if you have concerns. 

SHADOWS IN THE DARKNESS 

Chapter Thirteen: Nightmares, Memories, and Mushroom Soup 

***He was. . .riding a pony, through a wooded region. . . . It was very cold, but somehow it seemed it shouldn't be. . .worse than the usual autumn chill. . . . He felt frozen through, and yet damp with sweat, and sick. . . . Why am I on a pony in the middle of nowhere, then? he wondered. Why am I not home, at Bag End, in a warm bed? Where's Bilbo? And how did. . . 

Suddenly he felt a chill down his spine. 

He turned. Behind him were shadows. . .shadows that took shape and form. . .dark riders on sable horses, great spectres in the darkness. . .*** 

Frodo awoke abruptly in the dimly lit room, feeling weak and sweaty. As if I were getting over flu, he thought. . .then suddenly, looking up at the ceiling, he remembered: yes, he was ill. . .Bilbo had been taking care of him. . .had been trying to. . .to what? Yes, to get him to eat something. . . . He still felt a bit sleepy, but thirsty. . .and actually a bit interested in more than sips of water. 

"Bilbo?" 

"He is sleeping, Frodo. I pressed him to get some rest while you were asleep and comfortable." Gandalf bent over his bed, a huge but reassuring figure beside the little hobbit. "If you like, I will wake him, but if I will suffice. . . ?" 

Frodo shook his head. "No, no need to wake him. . .I'd like something to drink, please. . .maybe something like juice or broth, if there's any. . . ." 

The wizard smiled. "There is plenty of broth; I'll get you a cupful. Bilbo will be delighted." He rose, leaving Frodo alone for a few minutes. Frodo waited quietly, turning from his side onto his back, bringing the hot- water bottle with him. . .his stomach still felt better with the pleasant warmth resting against it. His back and limbs ached, and somehow he didn't feel like sitting up. He hoped Gandalf would help him with the broth; closing his eyes again, he smiled to think of Bilbo attempting to good- morning Gandalf into leaving at their first meeting. 

A moment later, he heard the slight swish of cloth and smelled the exotic scent of pipeweed and spices. . .and felt gentle arms scooping him up. Gandalf carried him to the nearby chair and sat down, cradling the small hobbit in his lap, wrapping the boy warmly in a fluffy quilt. Yawning a little, Frodo opened his eyes, smiling gratefully as Gandalf held the cup to his lips, the other arm supporting the tweenager comfortably in a pleasant reclining posture. The first sip was like water to a parched tongue: it tasted wonderful, plain though it was, and Frodo continued to take the warm drink eagerly. Gandalf smiled. 

"Bilbo will be pleased, my dear boy. He'd have been watching over you tonight if I hadn't ordered him off. . .he needed sleep, and we both thought you seemed comfortable enough for the time being." 

"It's all right. . .he must be exhausted. I don't mind since you're here." 

"Good, good. . .we'll just get a bit more of this nice broth to stay down, and you'll soon be feeling much better, I'm sure." 

Frodo smiled, nodding, and continued to drink. The pleasantly salty taste made him feel less dizzy, and the last traces of nausea seemed to be quelled by careful sips. "Gandalf?" 

"Yes, my boy?" 

"I had a horrible dream earlier. . .it was so real. . . ." 

"Dreams often seem very vivid during illness, Frodo, and you are still feverish. That alone could explain it. Perhaps when you're feeling better, you could write it down, in a journal, and that may help." 

"Perhaps so." The thought was reassuring. . .yes, no doubt it was only an effect of the fever. Swallowing, Frodo finished the broth and curled up in Gandalf's arms. The wizard set the cup aside, cradling him gently, and began to rock comfortably in the chair, the motion just enough to soothe a young hobbit back to sleep. 

**************************************************************************** ***** 

***So many people. . . 

Frodo felt very small and very much alone among so many Big People. Elves, a few humans, a few dwarves. . .mostly elves, but he felt terribly shy and out of place, even though they were kind to him. Bilbo was beside him, though. . .but he seemed much older, and rather sleepy. Gandalf was there as well, and Frodo felt somehow incredibly glad to be near them both, and especially to be beside Gandalf. . .as if he had somehow been worried about the wizard. . .but why would he worry about Gandalf? Surely Gandalf could not be in any danger. . . . 

Time passed, and he felt both shaky and hungry. His left shoulder ached a little, and he felt somehow as if he wanted to merely have something to eat and go lie down, to rest somewhere quiet, with a warm blanket and soft pillow. Everything was too big: he was sitting on a stack of cushions, as was Bilbo. He wanted so much to go home. He wanted to be in his room at Bag End, with the smell of fresh gingerbread baking and cinnamony applesauce heating on the stove, perhaps something really good for a main dish just ready to fill his plate. . .mushroom pie, perhaps. . .or even chicken with lots of vegetables. . . . 

But he couldn't think of that somehow. Everyone was. . .well, not watching him, but Frodo felt as if they were, though their eyes were not on him. He felt cold and sick, and very, very small. 

And afraid. . .yet somehow resolved. . . .*** 

This time, Frodo awoke more gradually, slowly becoming aware of his surroundings. He had been put to bed again; Gandalf was nowhere in sight, but Bilbo was at his bedside, fussing over his covers and changing his hot water-bottle and the cool compress on his forehead. At the sight of Frodo's opening eyes, he smiled warmly, stroking the young hobbit's damp curls. 

"Hullo there. . .did you have a nice sleep?" 

Frodo nodded; aside from the dreams, it had been comfortable. "I had strange dreams. . .but yes. . .mostly I slept well." 

"And no wonder you'd have odd dreams when you've been so sick, my poor lad. How are you feeling?" 

"A little better." Frodo thought for a moment longer: he really did, actually. His stomach felt settled, at least, and he no longer felt in imminent danger of vomiting. While he still felt feverish and achy, not to mention horribly exhausted, he felt as if lying quietly might be all that was needed to ease him a bit, rather than so ill he nearly wished for death. "I don't feel like everything's about to come back up." 

"Wonderful. . .that's wonderful, my dear boy." Bilbo looked near tears as he smiled, fetching a cloth wrung out in cool water and bathing Frodo's face gently, stroking the delicately outline features. Frodo lay quietly, comfortable enough to rest contentedly while the elder Baggins cared for him, yawning a little as sleep began to wear off. But actually, there was something more. . .he realised with some surprise that he was not as comfortable as he first thought: his stomach felt too empty, and he felt an interest finally in trying to fill it a little. . . . 

"Bilbo. . .I'm hungry, please. . .could I have something to eat? Soup, maybe?" 

Bilbo started, eyes wide with hope and disbelief mingled into an anxious gaze, and carefully studied the boy. "Of course. . .of course, my lad; just a little wait and I'll have something nice for you. . . ." 

Frodo lay back against the pillows, waiting while Bilbo hurried off to the kitchen. Looking over at the window, he found that Bilbo had hung up an old mobile, one that he had made for Frodo as an infant: Primula had loved Bilbo's tales, and so the elder hobbit had given her a beautiful little thing that looked like a wind-chime but which was so pretty you could hang it indoors, out of the air. It had shapes like tiny flowers and trees, and small animals. . .rabbits and birds, even a little squirrel. . . . Frodo had loved it even as he grew past infancy, so Primula had always kept it hanging in his window. It had been taken down when he moved rooms in Brandy Hall, and somehow had never been put back up. He had no idea Bilbo had even found it in all the boxes of things sent from Brandy Hall with him. The little ornament made him smile, and he lay watching it sparkle in the light. 

It was indeed a lovely tray: a small mug of mushroom soup, carefully arranged with little toast points around the edge of the saucer. . .a glassful of apple juice. . .a steaming cup of ginger tea with honey. . .and Frodo sat up carefully, allowing Bilbo to help him and rearrange the pillows to prop him up. Carefully he reached for the spoon, his hands tentative after some days of feeling too shaky and weak to hold anything. Bilbo watched patiently, his expression tense with excitement. 

"I can do that if you'd like, Frodo. . .there's nothing to be embarrassed about, as ill as you've been. . . ." 

Frodo shook his head firmly. "I want to try, at least - " Managing to take the spoon, he stirred, taking two of the toast bits and crumbling them into the soup before tasting a mouthful. The taste was achingly reassuring in its familiar comfort: it was the Baggins family recipe that his mother had made to coax him back into eating after he'd had mumps, to tempt him following colds and bouts of flu, to console him on bad days or to celebrate special occasions. Bilbo had made it for him every time he'd come to visit Bag End, often the first night, following his arrival, when he was tired and hungry and wanted mostly to eat, hear another of Bilbo's stories, and be tucked into bed to sleep until the delicious scent of bacon frying and muffins baking awakened him late the next morning. He was surprised now to find that the thought did not make him feel immediately sick at his stomach. 

Anxiously Bilbo watched him, nodding eagerly to encourage the boy. 

Another spoonful. . .Frodo smiled proudly, beginning to feel a little easier. The silky-thick soup felt like a warm quilt, filling his stomach just comfortably. "Tastes good. . .I was hungry. . . ." 

"And no wonder, given how starved you've been!" Nodding with approval, Bilbo reached over to smooth the boy's curls, touching his forehead gently. "Not quite so warm this afternoon. Are you feeling any better, my lad?" 

Frodo smiled a little, nodding. "Mm-hm. This is just what I wanted." 

"Good. . .good, my boy. . .I'm so glad." Bilbo continued to fuss over him a bit, coaxing sips of juice and tea, putting a fresh hot water-bottle against the tweenager's stomach, offering a spoonful of peppermint- raspberry leaf medicine once Frodo pushed away the tray. "There now. . .just a taste of this, to make sure you stay comfortable. . .a bit of dessert, if you care to think of it that way!" 

Frodo laughed, swallowing the syrup cooperatively. "What time is it? I don't even know. . . ." 

"Nearly two o'clock. You slept through the morning; Gandalf said you'd been awake for a little while last night and taken a little broth for him. . .we didn't want to wake you. You still need lots of rest; Dr. Boffin was by to speak with me this morning and said we must allow you to sleep as much as you feel like, especially while you're getting better. He says your temperature will finish coming down soon enough with plenty of bed rest and fluids." 

Nodding, Frodo nestled back into the covers. "Thank you. . .I don't suppose you'd be too upset if I. . .felt like going back to sleep, would you? I'm sorry; I know I've only just woken up, but. . . ." 

"Rest, my boy, rest! I won't be upset at all. Try to sleep if you can. I'll be right here." 

Smiling, Frodo closed his eyes. . .and fell asleep to the sound of Bilbo's soft singing. 

"The Road goes ever on and on  
Down from the door where it began.  
Now far ahead the Road has gone,   
And I must follow, if I can,   
Pursuing it with eager feet,   
Until it joins some larger way   
Where many paths and errands meet.   
And whither then? I cannot say." 

*Author's Note: Regarding Frodo's nightmares. . .yes, for the curious, the dream that opens this chapter is a nightmare about the Ringwraiths - Frodo is dreaming about the journey from Weathertop to Rivendell; the second dream is of the Council of Elrond. We know from Tolkien's writing that Frodo often had dreams; in some cases these seem to have been at least semi- prophetic. I've chosen to take this a step further. . .I believe that Frodo had dreams foreshadowing his future, though he may not have recognised them as such. 

Bilbo's song is, of course, the property and creation of J.R.R. Tolkien and is taken here from Chapter 1 of The Lord of the Rings. 


	14. A Bit of Comfort

Author's Notes: It's ready! Please see my bio settings for information on the promised Yahoo! group for ailing Frodo fiction: the group is called FrodoHealers, and I'm the moderator (FrodoAtBagEnd@yahoo.com). Anyone may join, and I hope to see lots of fanfiction.net readers there! :) It IS in the adult section of fanfiction, but only because that's where the LOTR material was: I absolutely assure you, on my highest honour as a writer and as a Tolkien devotee, that the group is slash-free and profanity-free, and will NOT have graphic sexual content or similarly adult material: it's basically PG to PG-13, like the movie, but with less violence. PLEASE feel safe in joining; I wanted it to be with the other LOTR groups, but I assure you, it's no worse than the books or the movies themselves are. :) However, for those under 18, I might add that I *am* checking into whether there's any way to adjust this so you'll be able to join without having to deal with that. I'll keep you posted! Don't worry, all the messages will still be on the site, so you won't have missed ANYTHING.  
  
Plotwise, I expect one of the key pieces to come in the next chapter or two of this fic; it hasn't quite fit just yet, but it IS coming. Something rather special and somewhat key to the events of LOTR. . . . Regarding a secondary infection or relapse. . .tempting, but m'dear, I do have to save something for later chapters or my other tales, which I'm working hard to get posted! ;) Never fear - there is plenty of ailing Frodo coming your way! :) I have SEVERAL new fics planned, and when "Shadows in the Darkness" ends some chapters away, I will already have a new one running. . .another tale of illness from Frodo's tween years. :)  
  
Sable is indeed listed as synonymous with black rather than brown in The New Roget's Thesaurus; in addition, while www.dictionary.com *does* give "a grayish yellowish brown" as one possible reading, it also includes "the color black" among the definitions, and that was indeed my intended meaning in describing the Riders' horses. :)  
  
And the Frodo-coddling award for the week goes to darthmorgana! :) I think my favourite touch was the end of your review. . .how ADORABLE. . .little Frodo just loved that. :) Is the title of your upcoming Chapter Three based on the Enya song and CD of the same name, by any change? (I'm a major Enya fan and have been since 1994.)  
  
For permission to reproduce, please contact frodobaggins@frodo.com  
  
DISCLAIMER: The characters, places, and story of The Lord of the Rings are the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and consequently of the Tolkien Estate, with select rights by Tolkien Enterprises. This piece appears purely as fanfiction and is not intended to claim ownership of Tolkien's work in any way. Please e-mail me if you have concerns.  
  
  
  
SHADOWS IN THE DARKNESS  
  
Chapter Fifteen: A Bit of Comfort  
  
  
  
"Good morning, my lad. . .how are you feeling?"  
  
Frodo pondered this question for a moment, yawning as he curled up a bit, just beginning to awaken. Gently Bilbo tucked another quilt over him, for which the young orphan felt grateful.  
  
"Exhausted. . .awfully weak, too. And achy. But a bit hungry. And I don't feel sick."  
  
"That's wonderful!" His voice still soft, Bilbo smiled warmly, stroking Frodo's hair. "Shall I get you some breakfast, then? I'll only be a few minutes. And it's one of your favourites."  
  
Interest sparked Frodo's curiousity, and he nodded. "Please. . .I'd like that."  
  
"Good. . .there's my good lad." He put his hand against Frodo's forehead, checking the tweenager's temperature. "Still running a bit of fever there. . .after breakfast we'll give you a spoonful of medicine for that, get you nice and comfortable. The doctor says you mustn't exert yourself yet, nothing more than rest and some quiet things to do if you want amusement."  
  
"That's all right. Too tired. . . ." Frodo yawned, curling further into a little ball. He still felt sleepy and tired, and resting in bed sounded better than anything else in the world at present, even food.  
  
"All right." Bilbo smoothed the covers once more, bending to kiss the boy's forehead. "I'll only be a moment, my lad."  
  
Frodo smiled drowsily, closing his eyes as he waited. The hole smelled good: sort of cinnamonish and gingery, like Primula's baking-days when he was small. He tried to picture her, an exercise he practised periodically to try and keep her memory vivid. He was always afraid it would eventually fade away. Thick, curly hair, the same dark shade as his own. . .clear blue eyes. . .a straight little aristocratic nose that looked less than entirely hobbit-like. . .very plump. Plump and warm, with an ample lap that always had room for him, even though at twelve he was getting to the age he shouldn't need a lap to curl up in. . .  
  
"There we are! Here's your breakfast, Frodo. . .see how this looks. . . ."  
  
Opening his eyes, Frodo inspected the tray Bilbo set on the bed beside him. Steaming porridge, swirls of maple syrup and brown sugar visible in it. A glassful of apple juice. A cup of tea, sweetened with honey from the goldenish look to it. Two circle-slices of toast, with honey and jam beside the plate to choose from. It *did* look awfully good. . . . Weakly he sat up, allowing Bilbo to slide gentle arms behind him to help.  
  
"I didn't think butter would be the best thing just yet; we don't want to upset your tummy again, do we? There's plenty of honey and jam for your toast, and if you'd prefer something else, soft-cooked eggs or a bit of custard, it won't take a moment. . ."  
  
"This is fine, Bilbo, really. . .thank you. It smells good."  
  
Bilbo fairly beamed, settling his young charge against the pillows. He started to take up the spoon, but Frodo shook his head in protest.  
  
"I can do it. . .I want to try, at least for a bit."  
  
For a moment his guardian hesitated, but at last he yielded, handing Frodo the spoon and sitting close by on the bed, ready to assist. Smiling, Frodo tasted the porridge. Mmm. . .maple syrup and brown sugar, with touches of cinnamon and nutmeg and ginger. It felt comfortably filling going down, not overly sweet. . .just right. Bilbo nodded toward the honey and jam for the toast, and Frodo pondered for a moment as he stirred the porridge, taking another spoonful.  
  
"Mm - honey on one, I think, and raspberry jam on the other."  
  
Looking quite pleased, Bilbo began spreading the requested toppings on carefully. "There's my good lad. . .you've been so brave, Frodo. I promise you'll feel much better soon. . .and in the meantime there are a few stories of my travels you've not heard! And perhaps Gandalf will tell you another story about dragons and princes. . .how does that sound? He's off and about this morning, actually, cooking up a bit of a surprise, I believe. Very fond of you."  
  
Frodo smiled, pausing for a sip of apple juice. "I'd like that very much."  
  
"Good, good!" Bilbo set down the slice of toast spread with honey and began spreading bright red jam over the second circle. "Now, then. . .let's see. . . ."  
  
He paused suddenly, his expression serious. . .and one hand went to his pocket, as if touching something there. Brown eyes darkening, he studied Frodo for a long moment.  
  
"Frodo, my lad. . .would you like to hear a very special story? If you finish what you can of your breakfast and promise me you'll try a little something again for second breakfast or elevenses, I'll tell you something that Gandalf forced out of me some time ago. You may as well know too, though I must have your word it'll go no farther. . .not to your cousins, not to the Gamgees, nowhere."  
  
At once Frodo's interest was seriously awakened, and he nodded curiously. "Of course. . .I promise. I can keep secrets. . .you know I can. . . ."  
  
A look of relief relaxed Bilbo's face, and he smiled gently. "I know, my dear boy. I know. Finish your breakfast now."  
  
~To Be Continued~ 


	15. Riddles in the Dark: The Tale

Author's Notes: Here we go! Sorry this took so long; my plan is to try and wrap up the fic this weekend, within about three to five chapters. However, before the final chapters are posted, I will be posting more from "Caradhras" as well as the opening chapters from a new fic: those who have read "Mithril" may recall Frodo's memories of Bilbo nursing him through a bad bout of bronchitis during his tween years, and that will begin in just a few days; I've been working on it. :) Another Caradhras-setting piece will begin ere long as well, though for the next several days I'm likely to concentrate my efforts into these two or three. Thanks for your patience! :)  
  
Please forgive me for not reproducing the story of "Riddles in the Dark" in its entirety here: I don't think there's quite any substitute for reading it as Tolkien presents it in _The Hobbit_, and even he does not reproduce Bilbo's retelling of it in full at any point. I think it would kill some of the effect if we knew precisely what Bilbo said; consequently, I've chosen not to present the entire retelling, though as you can see, Frodo is clearly getting the full tale. I do hope this won't upset anyone too terribly. :)  
  
For permission to reproduce, please contact frodobaggins@frodo.com  
  
DISCLAIMER: The characters, places, and story of The Lord of the Rings are the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and consequently of the Tolkien Estate, with select rights by Tolkien Enterprises. This piece appears purely as fanfiction and is not intended to claim ownership of Tolkien's work in any way. Please e-mail me if you have concerns.  
  
  
  
SHADOWS IN THE DARKNESS  
  
Chapter Fifteen: Riddles in the Dark  
  
  
  
"Now, Bilbo? What about now?"  
  
Having finished his breakfast obediently, followed by a bath and a nap, Frodo was trying to work his way through elevenses: Bilbo had brought him a dish of applesauce, with cinnamon toast cut into stick-like rectangles to dip in it, and a cup of weak tea sweetened with honey. Admittedly it did smell and taste wonderful, but the tweenager still found the effort of eating rather tiring, and after having been put off on the story through soap, water, fresh night-shirt, fresh bedding, nap, and meal preparation, he was nearly ready to burst with curiousity.  
  
"Perhaps. . . ." Bilbo laid a gentle hand on the lad's forehead, then bent forward to kiss it thoughtfully, as Primula had done when her child was a small one in her arms. "Still running a bit of a fever, my boy. . .promise you won't excite yourself, now, and mind you recall what I said about this being a secret!"  
  
Frodo nodded, swirling toast in the applesauce and taking a careful bite. "I promise. . .I'll be quiet and eat, honestly."  
  
"Good, good. . . ." For several moments Bilbo looked about nervously, at last rising and going to the door. For a moment Frodo feared he would leave, but instead he turned the key in the lock, barring entry from the hall. Proceeding quickly to the window, the elder hobbit closed the shutters, securing them in turn. Frodo frowned a little, but said nothing, despite his wonderings.  
  
Is it really so secret as all that? he pondered.  
  
"Now, then! Perhaps you recall our escape from the horrible goblins of the Misty Mountains - " Bilbo began, settling himself on the bed beside his young charge, supervising the eating process with hawklike attention. "They had crept up on us, of course, after our escape, and seized Dori, who was carrying me, from behind, and I fell - rolled all the way down into the darkness, and hit my head upon an exceptionally hard rock, and fell unconscious. . . ."  
  
  
  
If Bilbo's tale was intended to fascinate the young hobbit into staying awake and comfortable long enough to get a bit of breakfast down, it served its purpose well: Frodo listened with wide-eyed fascination, continuing to eat his cinnamon toast and applesauce, with occasional prodding and assistance from his watchful guardian.  
  
"And so I escaped, with the ring of course, though without my nice brass buttons, not that the ring wasn't of far more use to a burglar! You should have seen their faces, my lad!" Laughing, Bilbo reached into his trousers- pocket, taking out something on a fine chain and holding it up for Frodo to see.  
  
It was quite a plain ring, really. . .just a simple gold band, but very pretty to look at, though Frodo noticed that Bilbo's expression tensed slightly, and even Frodo's brief visual inspection seemed to make him somewhat. . .uneasy. After a moment, the elder hobbit returned the ring to his pocket, a tight-lipped smile turning up the corners of his mouth.  
  
"That's one of my treasures from my travels, my boy. . .and of everything I have, the most precious to me, I suppose."  
  
Frodo nodded, yawning a little. He was tired, and though he had immensely enjoyed the story, so unlike what he'd heard Bilbo tell others of the escape, he still felt feverish and ill, and wanted to rest again. Bilbo apparently noticed, smiling a little as he stroked back the young one's curls, bending to kiss the damp forehead.  
  
"Sleep now, Frodo. You need plenty of rest to help you feel better. . .and when you wake, perhaps another story, if you like, and some lunch for you if you're feeling up to it. Roast chicken, perhaps, and carrots mashed up with ginger, to help keep your stomach settled. . .or some nice soup if you'd prefer. Is there anything else I can do for you before I tuck you in?"  
  
Shaking his head, Frodo tried to keep his eyes open, with little success. The last thing he remembered from waking was Bilbo's gentle hand tucking the covers over his shoulders, smoothing everything before putting a fresh compress on the his forehead. It felt blessedly cool, and the little patient felt himself falling at once into a comfortable sleep.  
  
But he began to dream. . .and the room suddenly seemed cold. . . .  
  
~To Be Continued~ 


	16. Riddles in the Dark: The Nightmare

Author's Notes: The countdown begins. . .Chapter 17 should go up some time Sunday, April 21, and expect to have Chapter 18 (or Chapters 18-20, not certain yet of the number before the ending) posted within the next couple of days. :) However, before the final chapter or two are posted, I will be posting more from "Caradhras" as well as the opening chapters from a new fic: those who have read "Mithril" may recall Frodo's memories of Bilbo nursing him through a bad bout of bronchitis during his tween years, and that will begin in just another day or two; I've been working on it. :) Another Caradhras-setting piece will begin ere long as well, though for the next several days I'm likely to concentrate my efforts into these two or three. Thanks for your patience! :)  
  
Yes, Frodo's nightmares come predominantly from the book, though at least two are movie-compatible.  
  
Curu Ithilin - answer to your question accompanying Chapter 17, I promise. :)  
  
Still attempting to get FrodoHealers setup moved for the younger group: I'm trying, I promise!  
  
As always, thank you all so very much for reading and reviewing!  
  
  
  
For permission to reproduce, please contact frodobaggins@frodo.com  
  
DISCLAIMER: The characters, places, and story of The Lord of the Rings are the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and consequently of the Tolkien Estate, with select rights by Tolkien Enterprises. This piece appears purely as fanfiction and is not intended to claim ownership of Tolkien's work in any way. Please e-mail me if you have concerns.  
  
  
  
SHADOWS IN THE DARKNESS  
  
Chapter Sixteen: Riddles in the Dark - The Nightmare  
  
  
  
"Frodo - "  
  
Primula's voice. He smiled, hurrying through the thick fog towards it. . .yet it seemed to move, to change locations, first before him, then behind, then beside. . . .  
  
The sound of her laughter, beloved mirthful peal like the sound of raindrops in puddles.  
  
"Frodo - "  
  
Bilbo's voice this time. . .and ahead of him again. . . .  
  
Confused, Frodo pressed on, noting with increasing anxiety that the forest seemed strange: it was dark and cold, and he felt uncertain of where the cherished voice was leading. Suddenly the ground seemed to open up, pulling him in. . .and he found himself enclosed in what could only be a tomb. . . .  
  
He gasped, and woke suddenly to find himself lying in bed. . .but such a strange bed it was, not like his cosy feather-bed at Bag End, just the right size, or even his child's bed at Brandy Hall. . .it was enormous, like a bed made for Big Folk. . . . His night-shirt seemed huge as well; it hung over his prone form almost like another blanket.  
  
And he was in pain. So much pain. . .his shoulder ached, and he felt frozen through with cold.  
  
Someone murmured something he could not understand, and gentle hands pressed a cup of warm drink to his lips, the fragrance strange and unfamiliar. A damp cloth patted his brow, wiping his face. . . .  
  
Bilbo. . .he wanted Bilbo. . . . He tried to speak, but it was too much effort, and he sank back with nothing more than a hoarse whisper at his lips.  
  
And suddenly Bilbo was there. . .but it was different: Frodo found himself no longer in bed, but standing beside his guardian, who looked much older. Bilbo seemed to have aged a hundred years, from the look of it. . .and yet his voice was spry as ever as he urged Frodo to take what he held in his hands: Sting, his small sword. In awe, Frodo put out his hands, taking it reverently.  
  
Then Bilbo pressed him again, wordlessly, urging him to try on the mithril- coat. . .Frodo could hardly believe it; when he was smaller, Bilbo had taken him to Michael Delving to see it on display in the Mathom-House. They had stayed at an inn, and Bilbo had let him have lots of mushrooms for supper and extra pastries at tea: the coat had been only one highlight of the visit for the then-recently-orphaned hobbit. Frodo could not think why Bilbo would be so anxious that he wear it. . . .  
  
But something more was different. . .Bilbo's expression changed, his eyes widening hungrily as Frodo began to open his shirt: his gaze was directed at a chain about the younger hobbit's neck, a chain which, to Frodo's astonishment, bore Bilbo's ring. . . .  
  
He felt sick, but could do nothing. . .it was like watching a play onstage, only unable to intervene. . . .  
  
And suddenly Bilbo seemed to grope at him: in a flash, the elder hobbit was. . .something else. . .a grasping, hideous creature, a monster worse than even the Gollum creature of his tales. . .and Frodo felt certain it would choke him, kill him and take the ring. . . . He pulled away, hand up as if to strike. . . .  
  
  
  
"Frodo! Frodo, my boy. . .wake up. . .it's only a bad dream. . . ."  
  
Sobbing, Frodo opened his eyes. . .to find Bilbo sitting on the bed beside him, patting his shoulders anxiously. . .but the feeling overwhelmed him, and he pulled away in terror, curling into a ball in the bedclothes as he tried to move away. . . .  
  
"Frodo. . .what's wrong, lad? It's only me. . .I promise I'm not going to hurt you. . . ."  
  
Frodo shook his head, trembling. He felt cold and sick, and yet drenched in sweat, but worst of all was the sudden sense of being utterly alone again. The thought brought on an abrupt need to throw up again, but he managed with difficulty to keep his stomach-contents firmly in place.  
  
"Let me take him, Bilbo. . .bring the boy a bite to eat, something simple, and I'll be sure he gets it down while you rest."  
  
The voice was Gandalf's. . .and Frodo recognised the large hands that promptly closed over his back, gathering him into long arms warm with the familiar scent of pipeweed and firework powder. With relief he turned, burying his face in the wizard's robes, crying in the warm folds of cloth. He could hear Bilbo's distraught, anxious voice, but felt unable to respond. . . .  
  
"What's the matter? He was having a nightmare; I tried to help him wake, and he - he won't let me near him - "  
  
"You've said it yourself, Bilbo, and so has the doctor. Children get fussy when they're ill, especially with a fever." Gandalf's sat down in the rocking-chair, causing it to creak a bit in protest, still cradling Frodo in his arms. Patting the lad's back, he alternates the gesture with light rubbing, shushing the small tweenager softly. "I'll try and get some of that soup down him, and whatever else. You should rest."  
  
A "Hmmph," from Bilbo indicated disconcertain, but he merely touched Frodo's curls gingerly, sighing.  
  
"I'll be back shortly, my boy. . .be good for Gandalf, and. . .I'll try not to upset you so again. . . ."  
  
Turning his face back to Gandalf's robes, Frodo managed only a weak nod, trembling as he sobbed, the wizard rocking him quietly back and forth in the early evening light of sunset.  
  
~To Be Continued~ 


	17. Old Memories and Apple Pie Thoughts

Author's Notes: Sorry for the delay. . .and the brevity of this chapter. There's a real zinger coming up, though, so I don't feel too guilty. ;) Let's just say that you'll want to take some deep breaths before reading the upcoming chapter entitled "Overheard in the Kitchen." ;)  
  
I don't know all the places where it applies, but in the southern mountains where I grew up, the practice described regarding neighbours and post- funeral meals remained traditional until recently, and may still be practiced in some areas. It was the custom for church friends and close neighbours to "bring something" – ostensibly for the practical purpose of helping the immediate family feed all the out-of-town relatives and not have to worry about cooking for themselves to boot. Anything was fine, though usually at least one bucket of fried chicken showed up on the table. . .but homemade items were considered an especially nice gesture. But that's something that seemed to me to fit very well with hobbit practices, somehow. . .and so it's in my story. If people wish, once I get through a few more of my current fics in progress, I might very well take on the story of that time period: the drowning of Frodo's parents and the subsequent events.  
  
Updates: I don't think Yahoo help could GET any slower. Sorry the group isn't yet moved, gang. Curu Ithilin – answer to your question pending, I promise!  
  
As always, thank you all SO VERY much for reading and reviewing! You all are so wonderful: my dear readers, my Silmaril in the darkness. . .thank you all so very much.  
  
For permission to reproduce, please contact frodobaggins@frodo.com  
  
DISCLAIMER: The characters, places, and story of The Lord of the Rings are the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and consequently of the Tolkien Estate, with select rights by Tolkien Enterprises. This piece appears purely as fanfiction and is not intended to claim ownership of Tolkien's work in any way. Please e-mail me if you have concerns.  
  
SHADOWS IN THE DARKNESS  
  
Chapter Seventeen: Old Memories and Apple Pie Thoughts  
  
  
  
"What happened, Frodo?"  
  
Gandalf's voice was gentle and calming, and as Frodo felt his sobs beginning to ease a bit, he somehow felt. . .well, safe. . .with the idea of confiding in the wizard. Drawing a tremulous breath, he curled up a bit more in Gandalf's arms.  
  
"I. . .had dreams. . .awful ones, with. . .I'm not sure, exactly. . .there was. . .my mother's voice, and Bilbo's, and then I can't remember exactly, except being so cold. . .and hurting. . . . And I. . .I w-was wearing. . .Bilbo's ring that he showed me. . .on a chain. . .at my neck, and. . .Bilbo was s-so much older, and. . .wh-when he saw it, h-he. . . ."  
  
The tweenager's voice trailed off. He felt suddenly unable to say more, a wave of nausea rising in his throat.  
  
"He seemed. . .different. . .to you, didn't he?"  
  
Weakly Frodo nodded, clinging closely to Gandalf's robes, nestling into the warmth of the aged wizard's beard.  
  
"It's all right, my boy. . .it was only a nightmare. Bilbo loves you very much, and you're quite safe here." Continuing to rub Frodo's back gently, Gandalf shushed him softly, rocking methodically back and forth, the motion of the chair slight enough to avoid provoking any further degree of nausea in the small tweenager. A light tap heralded Bilbo's return: still looking somewhat shaken himself, Bilbo brought in a mug and spoon, setting it by the chair.  
  
"There we are. . .a bit of broth for my little lad. . .if you'd rather something else, Frodo, I don't mind fixing it. . .I could make you some eggs, if you like. . .or toast. . . ."  
  
He ventured closely, his movements tentative. For a moment he cast a questioning look up at Gandalf before reaching out, brushing Frodo's dark curls from the young hobbit's forehead gently before resting a hand there, checking his small charge's temperature. This time, feeling less startled, Frodo did not pull away.  
  
Bilbo was there. It would be all right.  
  
Smiling, Gandalf kept Frodo cradled against him with one arm, reaching to take the mug. "Do you think you can sip a little, Frodo, or shall we try spoonfuls?"  
  
Frodo kept his eyes on Bilbo's: blue eyes meeting brown. Desperate, searching. . .and so loving. . . . That look reminded Frodo of some nine years earlier. . .his parents' funerals, one after the other. . . . Not a single Baggins had come to Buckland for the services and burial. Only Bilbo. . .and in the bustle of the meal afterward (large meals being, of course, a standard hobbit-tradition on both sides of the Brandywine following any event, happy or sad, with after-funeral meals usually becoming enormous potluck-style dinners, with dishes sent by neighbours from everywhere within reasonable distance), rather than abandoning Frodo to the weeping and chatter, he had prepared a tray and carried both tray and hobbit-child off to Frodo's room, allowing the boy to sit in his lap and sob in private before insisting on some of the dishes – all Frodo's favourites – getting into the small stomach. And between spoonfuls of hearty mushroom soup and bites of apple pie, Bilbo told him stories of his parents' youth and courtship. . .and of their early years with their only child, whom Primula had called "the apple pie of my eye – better than just the apple!" And then Bilbo had sat in the rocking-chair, rocking him gently, after coaxing as much of the meal down as Frodo would take. . . .  
  
He had fallen asleep in Bilbo's arms, lulled to sleep for the first time since they had died.  
  
And the next morning. . .Bilbo had still been there. Frodo had awoken in his own bed, tucked in comfortably with his favourite quilt; Bilbo was snoring lightly in the chair beside him, one hand still clasping the smaller hobbit's.  
  
It had been such a long time since he thought about that. . . . Musing, he looked from Bilbo to Gandalf, nodding.  
  
"I can sip a bit. . .but I'd rather Bilbo gave it me, please."  
  
~To Be Continued~ 


	18. Overheard in the Kitchen

Author's Notes: I will be posting answers to questions when I return, as I didn't quite have time yet and still wanted to get this up before leaving town. Back in a couple days, guys, and will update "Caradhras" and "Counterpane" then. :)  
  
As always, thank you all SO VERY much for reading and reviewing!  
  
For permission to reproduce, please contact frodobaggins@frodo.com  
  
DISCLAIMER: The characters, places, and story of The Lord of the Rings are the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and consequently of the Tolkien Estate, with select rights by Tolkien Enterprises. This piece appears purely as fanfiction and is not intended to claim ownership of Tolkien's work in any way. Please e-mail me if you have concerns.  
  
SHADOWS IN THE DARKNESS  
  
Chapter Eighteen: Overheard in the Kitchen  
  
  
  
"You know, I don't believe any other creatures in Middle-earth spend half the time preparing things to be eaten as hobbits do. . .not even elves, though they come closest. However, they have several thousand years, while I daresay you spend half of your hundred or hundred and a half in the pursuit of perfect preparation."  
  
Bilbo looked up from fussing with the finely fluted edges of a small apple pie, laughing as he glanced back down to check the position of several small dough-animals cleverly arranged around the top. Gandalf's humour was hardly lost on him. . .or perhaps it was his mood, which seemed to have improved considerably.  
  
"Say what you like of it; it matters little enough to me! My boy's hungry - he told me what he wants for his supper, and he shall have it if I have to spend the rest of the day working at it. I thought perhaps a nice apple pie wouldn't hurt anything: he loves that, and it's just the thing to go with a plain supper like this, when the apples are cooked soft enough and one's careful not to overdo the cinnamon. . . ." He gestured to the rest of the bubbling and waiting dishes, mostly soft foods or liquids, as per doctor's orders: mashed potatoes, a bit of mashed pumpkin, a light mushroom soup made with milk instead of cream, and a poached egg carefully positioned on a toast circle, all in miniature servings, small enough to make most hobbits frown or blink, but just the right size for a recuperating tweenager with a delicate stomach.  
  
Gandalf nodded, taking a seat on the stool facing Bilbo over the counter- top. Frodo had complied in drinking the broth earlier, then curled up into a small bundle to go back to sleep, allowing his elders to put him back to bed, tucking him in warmly with fresh hot water-bottles and a new compress to keep his temperature down. He had woken after a few hours of quiet slumber, calm once more and asking only for Bilbo, at which Gandalf ruffled the tweenager's hair and stepped into the parlor for a bit of smoking and reading alone while Bilbo tended his young ward.  
  
"Bilbo. . .I happened to pass by while you were telling Frodo that story. Not eavesdropping, of course, but I did overhear enough to know that you were speaking of that ring you brought back."  
  
Bilbo shrugged, pressing the last edges into shape. "And what of it? He's as much right to know as you, and more, and *you* certainly badgered me enough on the matter!"  
  
"Perhaps."  
  
Gandalf's voice was guarded, a sheen of wariness in his tone.  
  
"And his nightmares came immediately after, I noticed."  
  
"What of it?" snapped Bilbo, glaring at his old friend. "It happens; I am no bogey-spectre trying to scare a child! Frodo loves my stories. . . ."  
  
He paused, softening a little.  
  
"Though yes, this did. . .seem to trouble him. I can't understand what frightened him so; he's never been an overly skittish lad with tales. . . ."  
  
Gandalf reached across the counter-top, putting one hand gently over Bilbo's.  
  
"Consider it, my friend. Often there is more to the most powerful magic than meets the eye, just as there is with hobbits. Sometimes the effects we see are but the ripple upon the surface of their true impact."  
  
He pressed the aging hobbit's hand tightly for a moment.  
  
"Do be careful of it, Bilbo."  
  
Bilbo's eyes met his. . .then quickly looked away, out at the quiet garden. Many minutes passed in heavy silence. . .save for a low murmur in the air that might easily have been the sound of autumn breezes against glass. At last Bilbo shook his head, forcing a bright, tight-lipped smile.  
  
"Really, now, Gandalf, you do carry on over the least things! Of course I'm careful of my things, especially my most precious treasures. . .and speaking of that, stop trying to frighten *me* with your talk and help me get this tray ready. You have me half hearing things where there shouldn't be any. . .but it's only the wind, I'm sure, and an old hobbit's imagination. . . ."  
  
Only the wind, indeed. . .neither of them noticed the soft sound of footsteps: outside the kitchen, Frodo turned away, pale and unsteady, abandoning his hope of surprising his guardian. Quietly unobtrusive as Bilbo himself, the lad slipped back into his room, returning to bed so carefully as to leave no trace that he had gotten up at all. A fresh shiver ran down his spine at the memory of the earlier nightmares. . .and Bilbo's strange tale of how he really obtained the ring of which he seemed so fond. . . . He settled back into his nest of covers, trying to forget the expression on his uncle's face when the elder hobbit spoke of his ring.  
  
It was too reminiscent of his nightmares.  
  
Anxiously the young hobbit curled up, trying to look as if he had not even moved. . .much less heard every word. No. . .he would not speak of it.  
  
Better for them not to know.  
  
~THE END~ 


End file.
